


Being in Motion

by marswithghosts



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Coming Out, Happy Ending, Homophobia, M/M, Mental Health Issues, camboy au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-28
Updated: 2016-04-11
Packaged: 2018-05-29 18:15:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 53,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6387340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marswithghosts/pseuds/marswithghosts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Watching a college boy jerk off online for money is not what Jack Zimmermann ever saw himself doing. Getting to know that boy is something he expected even less.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Ngozi's Check, Please! which can be read here: http://omgcheckplease.tumblr.com/post/57705111693
> 
> This fic is 100% finished and will be posted on Mondays and Thursdays, one part at a time. There are 5 parts, plus an epilogue.
> 
> Title is taken from “Going to Georgia” by The Mountain Goats. Title credit goes to my lovely partner annundriel.
> 
> I know enough about hockey to enjoy it when I see it, and I did a cursory Google search for anything I had questions on to make this sort of accurate. Some of this is probably still inaccurate. Whoops.
> 
> In true Jack Zimmermann form, I am woefully ignorant of most new technology (annundriel had to explain to me, recently, what Yik Yak and Grindr are), and I have no idea how one would videochat/Skype/IM via a porn site. If you see any horrifically glaring inaccuracies that make you want to punch me in the face, you can let me know and I’d be happy to do my best to fix it. 
> 
> Addendum: I’m from Louisiana, raised in Texas, I live in the PNW, and I’ve never been anywhere near Massachusetts. I’m sorry if I ruined your state, y’all. Please forgive.

 

            Jack has a secret. About two months ago, he was idly searching for gay porn online when he came across a website for a young guy, only a little younger than himself, who charges ten bucks a month for various videos of himself jerking off and putting things in his ass so he can pay for school. He never shows his face, but something about his body made Jack seize up in interest, and so he pays to watch this faceless person jack off, and sometimes Jack will get himself off, too, and it’s the biggest secret he’s ever had, bigger than his sexuality, which is a convoluted mess even to himself.

            So he does this regularly. The guy—he goes by _Rich Daisy_ , which is awful, he knows, but the guy knows it and warns not to judge on his profile, he just took part of his middle name and his first pet’s name like you’re supposed to do. There’s something charming about the site and almost sweet, which is kind of a turn-on considering how dirty it all really is.

            Then, one lonely Saturday night after a game against the Bolts, he sees that there is a live stream. It’s an extra $25 and will last for one hour, and in that hour Rich Daisy will do anything you ask of him (within reason).

            Jack has his credit card number memorized, so he pays the $25 and goes into what looks like a chatroom, where it asks him for the handle he’d like to use. It takes nearly five minutes to figure out which one would be good, something he’ll remember but also not something anyone can find him by. He settles for JLinCanada and signs in.

            He’s a little early. There are already two other people in the chat, and then two more show up. The participants are talking to one another back and forth, and there’s a sense that they know one another and have done this together before. One of them even asks the other how the new nephew is. It’s strange, seeing these men—people?—talking to one another like friends while waiting for a guy to show up on screen and beat off for money.

            While he waits, Jack looks over some of the more recent pictures Rich Daisy has posted. God, his dick is fucking gorgeous, good sized in length but crazy thick, cut in a way that still surprises Jack, who is not used to cut dicks. His mouth wants to play over that blunt head, dip his tongue into the slit. By the time Jack returns to the chat, there are twenty people there, waiting for their golden boy to show up.

            Suddenly there’s movement, and then he’s there, artfully hiding his face like he does in every video, and holy God he’s wearing these ridiculously tiny red shorts and has a wireless keyboard he’s keeping near him. He is very compact and tightly built—not broad-shouldered and thick, like Jack’s usual preference, but lithe and narrow, with boyish hips and pert pink nipples, and only a light dusting of golden hair in the middle of his chest.

            As if sensing their god is near, fifty people suddenly flood into the chatroom all at once, clogging up the chat feed and slowing down the connection by just enough to annoy Jack.

            And that’s when he sees it in the chat box: RichDaisy is typing.

            Jack’s heart pounds hard when the words appear: _Hey, y’all! Welcome to my live stream! :3 It seems like we’ve got a lot of new faces here, so let’s go over the rules!_

            He’s so…chipper and friendly, and the “y’all” has Jack wondering what he sounds like. All he’s ever heard from Rich have been breathy gasps and moans from the videos, where he doesn’t speak at all.

            The rules of the chat seem to be pretty simple, and everyone in the chat is polite and friendly and calling out things like _TAKE OFF YOUR UNDERWEAR_ , and Rich Daisy responds with lots of smileys and winky faces. (Those tiny red shorts are…a problem for Jack, and he almost doesn’t want them to come off for how great they’re working him up.) He says he’ll do anything he’s asked, but he won’t show his face, he won’t reveal anything so personal that he can be found, and he has the right to say no without any explanation.

            Jack continues to stay silent in the chat. He isn’t an active participant and doesn’t intend to be. But someone has to be reading his mind, because the first question he sees is: _hey buddy u wanna tell us hello in that pretty voice of urs??_

            Jack tenses up, his back taut with anticipation. Rich chuckles. “Y’all cannot be paying me to just talk to you, right?”

            Oh. _Oh_. That voice is drawling southern milk and honey, sweet and warm and fond, and Jack can _hear_ the smile in his voice, the satisfaction at being asked to speak. He basks in the sound of that voice for several long, pleasurable moments.

            And then things begin to heat up. The chat is explosive—men talking back and forth to one another, daring Rich to do all sorts of things. He denies some of them—“Y’all, please! You’re making me blush!”—but acquiesces to others, like sliding his long, pretty fingers up and down his half-hard cock, still trapped in those ridiculous red shorts.

            All in all, Jack spends a whole hour with fifty-six other people, watching as Rich Daisy gets himself off three times in total, plays extensively with his nipples, and in one unbelievable display of beauty turns around onto his knees, presents his gloriously tight ass, and fingers himself until he comes. Jack never once sees his face, not even a glimpse.

            Everyone is jovial and in good spirits as it becomes clear that the chat is finishing up. They say they’ll see each other next week, and Jack realizes that this happens every Saturday night. This is how Rich Daisy spends his Saturday nights. And Jack would like to spend them with him when he doesn’t have a game. He’s not sure if that makes him pathetic or not, but his sated dick doesn’t much care in that moment.

 

 

            Slowly but surely, this becomes an integral part of his very strict routine. He looks forward to it on Saturdays and finds himself frustrated, once, when he has an afternoon game that goes into OT. He’s never been frustrated with hockey before. And still, months into it and pushing toward December, he signs in on Saturday nights when he’s able and doesn’t say a word as Rich Daisy graces them all with his magnetizing presence.

            Until, it seems, Rich Daisy notices.

            “I’ve got a bone to pick with one of y’all,” he says, voice dreamy as he slowly strokes a hand up and down his hardening cock. He’s glistening with oil, a request from one of the other men—a newbie, Jack is not pleased to see. There are a hundred people in the chat now. Rich has kicked three of them out already for being disrespectful.  “One of y’all,” he continues, “has been coming here for months and months now, and you haven’t even said hi to me yet. That’s rude, you know.”

            Jack swallows hard. His heart feels like it will explode in his chest.

            “Mr. Canada,” Rich says, and Jack is trapped by the way those lovely long fingers touch a pert, pinkened nipple. “I’m talking to you. JLinCanada? How come you been so rude to me, boy? Can’t even say a friendly hello?”

            The teasing in the chat makes Jack smile a little. With shaking fingers, he types out a simple phrase: _Hi. I’m shy_.

            They all jump on him after that, some of them straight up hitting on Jack, asking why he’s so shy, what’s he wearing. Rich Daisy seems delighted. He laughs, and by the angle of his chin Jack can see that he’s reading his screen. “You’re shy? But we’re friends.”

            Jack takes a long moment before responding: _Doesn’t mean I’m not shy_.

            Rich’s voice is very soft and persuasive when he speaks. “Is there something you want me to do for you, Canuck?” and oh, Jack’s toes tingle with the promise of that voice. “What can I do just for you, shy little Canuck?”

            If Jack’s honest with himself, there’s really one thing he wants to know in that moment more than anything, so he types it out and braces for the jeers: _What color are your eyes?_ _You can tell me that._

            There’s a pause as Rich reads his screen, then he laughs again. “You’re a romantic thing, aren’t you? I meant, what can I do to myself just for you? But if that’s all you want, my eyes are dark brown, like maple syrup. You like maple syrup, right?”

            Jack wipes sweaty hands on his sheets: _I love maple syrup_.

            “Good. That’s what my eyes are. Big and dark. Long lashes. Are you thinking about what my eyes look like?”

_Yes. Of course I am._

            “Good. What can I do for you, Canuck? Where do you want me to touch? Tell me what you want.” Rich’s hand goes still on his cock, his chest flushed and still glistening. “Tell me what you want me to do.”

 _I don’t know. I’m nervous. You’re putting me on the spot here_.

            A low chuckle whispers out of Jack’s speakers. “You’re kinda cute, you know. Just take it easy. Some of the boys here have probably given you some ideas, right? Which ones did you like?”

            Jack wants to throw up he’s so shaky, but he types valiantly: _I like it when you_

            He hits send before he can finish typing out what he was going to say, then adds: _I’m too shy to even type it._

            “Oh, you sweet little thing,” Rich says, his voice all tender in a way that makes Jack want to know what his face looks like when he says it. “Aren’t you precious. Come on. Use your words. Are you French Canadian, by any chance?”

 _Oui_ , Jack types, wanting to make Rich laugh again. It works. Rich laughs, and the comments Jack gets in the chat are starting to make him a little hot under the collar. “Too bad I don’t know French. Canadian French is a little different, isn’t it? I’m curious now, Canuck. I want to know what you sound like when you come. Do you forget your English?”

            Jack fists his dick for several long seconds: _Sometimes. It’s been a long time since I did, though_.

            “Can I make you forget your English?” The tone is sweet and gentle, but there’s an undercurrent of a challenge there. Onscreen, Rich is stroking his dick again. “I’m wondering if I can.”

 _You probably can_ , Jack types. _If anyone can, you can._

            “How? What would I do?”

            Jack swallows, takes a long, deep breath. _Work yourself open_. He hits the enter button and leans back, heart fluttering in his chest.

            “I see,” he says, and his voice says that yes, he does see, he sees very much. “You like it when my ass is open for you, do you? Do you imagine what it would be like to fuck me?”

 _Sometimes_ , Jack types, scrubbing a hand at his face and feeling ridiculous. _Mostly, I think about your cock and what it would feel like in me._

            “Ooh, you’re a bottom, are you?” Delight, he’s utterly delighted.

 _Mostly_ , Jack says. _But I haven’t in a long time_.

            “Oh, honey, that’s not good. Why haven’t you? I bet you’re gorgeous, aren’t you?”

 _Work obligations_ , he says, because it’s true, and Rich makes the saddest little noise as he slides a beautiful finger right into his tight ass. “Is this making you feel any better? Would you eat me out if you were here?”

            Jack realizes, belatedly, that the chat has gone fairly quiet. It’s…it’s just him and Rich. _I would, yes. Gladly._

            “Are you a hungry boy?” A second finger joins the first. Rich’s camera is beautifully clear, and Jack can see every wet inch. _Yes_ , he says. _Yeah, I am_. “Good. I like to hear that. Are you hard, Canuck?” _Yes_. “Good. Touching your dick?” _Not yet_. “Oh no, why not?” _Want to make it last_. “Your typing is getting a little short, boy. I don’t think it’s gonna last much longer, is it?” _I’ve got some pretty good stamina_. “Oh, do you?” _Yeah. My job’s pretty strenuous_. “As you can see, so is mine.”   _Câlisse._ “Oh my, what does that mean?” _It means you’ve got me worked up and speaking French._ “Good. Good boy. Can you talk dirty in French?” _Oui_. “You want to talk dirty for me?” _Non_. “Why not?” _I feel like an exhibitionist._ “So do I.” _Haha_. “No, really. It’s fun. Talk dirty to me, Canuck.” _Don’t put me on the spot_. “Why not?”

            Rich’s fingers are working deeper now, and Jack can’t help it—he fists his own cock and groans. He can’t type now. He can’t respond. He can only hold his breath as he rides toward the crest of an orgasm. “Canuck, are you still with me?”

            Jack hits a _y_ and nothing else, and when Rich chuckles and says, “You close, boy?” he comes all over himself.

 _Not close_ , he types, one handed and shaking. _Done_.

            The chat explodes with a  chorus of _shit me to_ and _jesus that was amazing can you guys do a joint vid or something_ and _omg i bet the canadian is so hot_ and _fuck rich u gonna come w us yet man bc god_.

            Rich’s shoulders tighten visibly on the camera. He rolls onto his back and jacks himself so hard it looks like it hurts, his dick swollen and red and pulsing, and then he’s coming all over his stomach, muscles twitching with release. Jack stares at his screen, biting his lip hard. God. God, this was amazing, and he participated in this, he made this beautiful man come. It was him. It had to be him.

            “I’m spent,” Rich says, after several moments of silence, his chuckles airy and insubstantial. “Y’all wiped me out, damn. Canuck, I hope you’re more vocal like this next week.”

            Jack catches himself before he types out _I have a game._ Instead, he says: _Might not be able to make it. Sorry_.

            The chorus of catcalls and boos he gets makes him smile a little. He never expected to be popular in a place like this.

            “I sincerely hope you’ll find the time,” Rich says, sighing. “And with that, y’all, I’m signing off. Be good to one another, and I’ll see y’all next week.”

            The chat starts to peter out as soon as the camera turns off, but Jack can’t really move, so he simply stares at the blank screen, the emptying chatroom, with a sigh.

            That’s when an instant message pops up from RichDaisy: _Hey, I hope I didn’t embarrass you over there! :x I just wanted you to have some fun. Was that okay, what I did? I didn’t think to ask permission first, I am so sorry :(_

            Jack has to swallow very hard before responding. _No, it’s all right. Caught me off-guard, but not in a bad way. I’m just pretty shy, is all._

 **RichDaisy:** I can tell ;) But you did great! Was it fun for you?

 **JLinCanada:** Yeah, it was. I still can’t believe I did that.

 **RichDaisy:** Did what? You’re here like every week almost! :D :D I like seeing you!

 **JLinCanada:** I know you tell that to all the lonely Canadian boys.

            What is he _doing_ , is he flirting with a porn star? What the fuck is wrong with him?

 **RichDaisy:** Not as often as you might think, actually. I wondered why you were always so quiet. Everyone chats it up except you.

 **JLinCanada:** I’m just a quiet person.

 **RichDaisy:** I worried you weren’t having fun :(

 **JLinCanada:** Oh, I’m having fun, believe me.

 **RichDaisy:** I’m glad. Will you talk to me next week? :) :) :)  

 **JLinCanada:** I really can’t make it.

 **RichDaisy:** :’(

 **JLinCanada:** Stop that. It’s a work thing.

 **RichDaisy:** Week after that, then.

 **JLinCanada:** Are you asking me out on a date?

            Oh God, oh, God, oh God. He’s so fucking stupid.

 **RichDaisy:** It’s hard to make me blush when I’m not on camera. You should be proud of yourself for that one :P

 **JLinCanada:** I am, a little.

 **RichDaisy:** I’m serious.

 **JLinCanada:** I should be there, yeah.

 **RichDaisy:** Think about what you want me to do for you.

 **JLinCanada:** You know I’ll take damn near anything, right?

 **RichDaisy:** I know. But I want you to ask for it :3

 **JLinCanada:** Today wasn’t enough?

 **RichDaisy:** Not nearly!

 **JLinCanada:** I’ll try to step up my game, then.

 **RichDaisy:** I never say this—I always want to have some measure of distance between myself and y’all—but I have to know if you’re this charming in person.

            Ugh. Jack exhales in a whoosh, suddenly depressed.

 **JLinCanada:** Not in the slightest, actually. Most people say I’m grumpy, or like a robot.

 **RichDaisy:** !!!!! No way :o

 **JLinCanada:** Really. I’m focused on my job and I don’t really go out or do things.

 **RichDaisy:** You do me. ;)

 **JLinCanada:** Ha. Haha. You think you’re cute.

 **RichDaisy:** You don’t? o:)

 **JLinCanada:** Don’t flirt with me. I find it very unfair.

 **RichDaisy:** Aww, how come?

 **JLinCanada:** Because I’m in Montréal and you’re probably somewhere down south, right?

 **RichDaisy:** Montreal, huh? ;)

            Shit.

 **JLinCanada:** Yeah. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t spread that around.

 **RichDaisy:** Are you famous, Canuck?

 **JLinCanada:** No.

 **RichDaisy:** The lady doth protest.

 **JLinCanada:** The lady is done with this line of conversation, please.

 **RichDaisy:** Don’t be mad at me :( :( :(

 **JLinCanada:** I’m not. This is just me being awkward. If you think I’m charming, I fooled you.

 **RichDaisy:** Nah. I still think you’re charming. I have to go study, but please tell me it won’t be more than a couple of weeks until I see you again???

 **JLinCanada:** I’ll try, I really will.

 **RichDaisy:** Promise?

 **JLinCanada:** I don’t like promises if I don’t know I can’t keep them.

 **RichDaisy:** Noble of you  <3

 **JLinCanada:** I don’t like disappointing people, that’s all.

 **RichDaisy:** Still noble of you. Good night, Canuck  <3 <3 <3

 **JLinCanada:** Night.

 

            In the next game against the Bruins, Jack gets a hat trick. The first person he wants to tell is an internet porn star whose face he’s never seen, which depresses him so much he spends the night completely alone and in the dark at his luxury apartment, staring out the window and watching the snow silently drift down.

            He forces himself not to go to Rich’s site for the entire week. He’s away in Calgary that weekend and gets three assists and a goal in their win against the Flames. His week seems to be based around Saturdays, and he’s overeager when the second Saturday rolls around and he’s got nothing to do.

            He signs on. He’s coming late to the conversation because he was too shy to be early. Embarrassingly, he saved his conversation with Rich and has read over it about two dozen times.

            They’re already under way. The chat hits capacity at 130 as soon as Jack appears. He’s shocked by it—he almost missed the chat entirely, almost missed _Rich_ entirely. He swears he won’t be late again next time.

            Rich is already in the middle of what can only be described as a glorious performance on a realistic (and large) dildo—Jack can see the blunt-cut head outlined against his throat and nothing more—as usual, his face is artistically hidden. He’s good. He’s so good. Jack breathes out shakily and undoes his jeans with one hand.

            The chat is madness. It’s so convoluted with men catcalling and begging for Rich’s attention that Jack finds himself staying quiet like before, watching his screen instead. Gorgeous. He relaxes little by little, though the next forty minutes goes by too quickly. Before he’s ready for it, Rich is signing off.

            On a whim, he waits.

            His IM pings.

 **RichDaisy:** I almost thought you weren’t gonna be here :D :D :D

 **JLinCanada:** I was late. Won’t be next time. Didn’t realize there was a chat limit.

 **RichDaisy:** Neither did I. This is getting a little ridic OMG.

            He says OMG. Jack smiles.

 **JLinCanada:** Sad you’re popular as hell?

 **RichDaisy:** I don’t know. Part of me is worried it gets too big. Won’t be anonymous :/

 **JLinCanada:** If you want to stay anonymous, you’ll have to make a decision soon, you know. There’s no way you’ll be able to keep yourself a secret forever. 

            He’s talking to himself as much as he is to Rich.

 **RichDaisy:** Gloomy gloomy. I don’t want to be gloomy. Did you like what you saw tonight? ;)

 **JLinCanada:** I did.

 **RichDaisy:** Did I disappoint?

 **JLinCanada:** Not at all.

 **RichDaisy:** Anything you wish I would’ve done? ;)

            Jack hesitates. _Yes_ , he wants to say. _I wish I could’ve seen your face_. It’s all he can think about—some lithe young man in his early twenties according to his profile, putting himself through college by jacking off on the internet. His eyes are the color of maple syrup. His hair must be blonde. Beyond that, it’s not enough. Jack wants to know the shape of his mouth and the cut of his jaw. Wants to know if he has chicken pox scars or freckles. Probably freckles, if his shoulders are any indication of the summer sun his skin soaks up. 

 **RichDaisy:** I think there’s something you wanted but you’re too shy to tell me.

 **JLinCanada:** Not shy, exactly.

 **RichDaisy:** Then what?

 **JLinCanada:** Crosses a boundary.

 **RichDaisy:** I don’t really have a ton of those on the internet :P

            His fingers move quickly, before his brain can betray him by being logical.

 **JLinCanada:** I wanted to see your face.

 **RichDaisy:** Ah.

 **JLinCanada:** See? Crosses a boundary. Can’t be anonymous if someone knows what you look like.

 **RichDaisy:** You don’t know my real name.

 **JLinCanada:** Doesn’t matter. Still not anonymous.

 **RichDaisy:** I could show you my face, if you wanted.

            Jack exhales shakily.

 **JLinCanada:** I couldn’t reciprocate that. I can’t show you my face.

 **RichDaisy:** I didn’t ask you to.

 **JLinCanada:** But that’s not fair.

 **RichDaisy:** Why not?

 **JLinCanada:** I don’t know. Just doesn’t feel fair. I can’t ask for something I wouldn’t give.

 **RichDaisy:** You’ve asked me to put my fingers in my ass, stretch myself open. Does that mean you’d do the same to yourself?

 **JLinCanada:** What makes you think I haven’t done that?

 **RichDaisy:** I’ll be honest with you, even though I can get hard on camera and jack off, I’m not usually turned on.

 **JLinCanada:** Oh? That sounds disappointing.

 **RichDaisy:** I am now, though.

            Sometimes Jack gets so nervous he thinks he’s going to puke; this is one of those times.

 **JLinCanada:** Are you?

 **RichDaisy:** I could show you my face.

            The cutesy, flirty little emojis are gone. Jack doesn’t know what that means. He doesn’t know what any of this means. He scrubs a hand over his head, trying to decide what to do. There’s some sort of a step here he’s about to cross, and there won’t be any takebacks. There’s no way Rich watches hockey, right? It doesn’t sound like it. From the little he knows about him, his hobbies include baking and Beyoncé. He would’ve said hockey if he liked hockey. Right? 

 **JLinCanada:** You’re making me very nervous.

 **RichDaisy:** I don’t mean to. I mean, I do, as long as it’s a good kind of nervous.

 **RichDaisy:** You’re making me nervous too.

 **JLinCanada:** I don’t know why. You don’t know anything about me.

 **RichDaisy:** You could tell me a little?

            He hesitates on that for several moments.

 **JLinCanada:** I have dark hair. Blue eyes.

 **RichDaisy:** Yeah?

 **JLinCanada:** Yeah.

 **RichDaisy:** Light or dark blue?

 **JLinCanada:** Light.

 **RichDaisy:** How tall?

            That can’t be too much of a giveaway, right? He could tell him… 

 **JLinCanada:** 6’1”.

 **RichDaisy:** Jesus, you’re a tree.

 **JLinCanada:** Average height in my profession.

 _That’s_ a giveaway, it has to be.

 **RichDaisy:** What, you’re a fucking lumberjack?

            Jack laughs.

 **JLinCanada:** Yeah, sure. Let’s go with that.

 **JLinCanada:** How tall are you?

 **RichDaisy:** I am NOT 6’1”, if that’s what you’re asking :P

 **JLinCanada:** Then how tall?

 **RichDaisy:** If I stretch real far, I can hit about 5’7”

            Jesus fucking Christ, Jack could break him in half.

 **JLinCanada:** You do not look that short on camera.

 **RichDaisy:** I’m not short!! :(

 **JLinCanada:** You’re pretty short.

 **RichDaisy:** I don’t have to sit here and take this  >:|

 **JLinCanada:** What do you want me to do, then?

 **RichDaisy:** You could talk dirty to me in French. I’m hard.

            Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. He’s not paying for this. This is what he’s getting and he’s not paying for it. What does it mean that he’s not paying for this?

 **JLinCanada:** Technically I speak Québécois.

 **RichDaisy:** Hot. Keep going.

 **JLinCanada:** I can’t. You’ve got me all flustered.

 **RichDaisy:** Tell me I’ve got you flustered in Quebecois ;)

 **JLinCanada:** You’ve got me flustered in Québécois.

 **RichDaisy:** Rude. Don’t make me laugh when my dick is this hard.

 **JLinCanada:** You said you’d show me your face?

 **RichDaisy:** I would. Yes.

 **JLinCanada:** What could I do for you?

 **RichDaisy:** Just keeping typing to me. Let me imagine this giant of a dark-haired, blue-eyed lumberjack whispering to me in Canadian French.

            He forces himself not to offer to do a Skype call, but it’s a close thing.

 **JLinCanada:** Am I really making you hard?

 **RichDaisy:** Wanna see?

            He’s quiet, trying to get his heart under control.

 **JLinCanada:** Yes.

            It’s a heart stopping ten seconds of silence. Then a little box appears on his IM, asking if he wants to connect video with RichDaisy. He says yes, but turns his own video off. Suddenly, there he is, sitting cross-legged on his bed, naked, laptop propped up on something so his face and shoulders are in the frame. He’s…beautiful, pale but golden in early winter, with a sweep of blonde hair across his forehead and huge dark eyes. He wasn’t lying when he said he had long eyelashes. The smile on his face is clearly nervous but excited. He waves. “Hi,” he says. “I wish you would give me your name so I knew what to call you.”

            Jack’s fingers are shaking so hard he almost can’t type.

 **JLinCanada:** You called me Canuck before. You can keep doing that. 

            “You won’t give me your name?” His pout is exaggerated, but his lips are plump and full and look very soft.

 **JLinCanada:** It’s not that I don’t want to. It’s just that with my job, I need to be anonymous. Even my name is too much.

            “I guess I’ll have to take that.” He leans his chin on his hand, looking at his screen with what Jack can only describe as longing. “I want to see you. Or hear you. But you already said you couldn’t reciprocate, so I’m gonna try not to be all greedy.”

 **JLinCanada:** I would if I could, trust me.

            “I won’t lie, you’ve got me real curious.”

 **JLinCanada:** I thought you were hard?

            “Trying to distract me?”

 **JLinCanada:** Of course.

            His little quip is well received. Rich curls a hand around his cock, but the most Jack can see is the head. He doesn’t care. He’s seen his cock plenty. It’s that gorgeous round little face he wants to keep looking at.

 **JLinCanada:** You are very attractive.

            It’s a moronic thing to say, he knows, but Rich flushes, his cheeks deepening in color. “Well, thank you. I don’t hear that much.”

 **JLinCanada:** Some people just don’t have good taste.

            “You mean most people.”

 **JLinCanada:** Fortunately, I’m not most people.

            “No, you’re not.” He bites his lip. “I’m—I’m close. I want to come. You won’t tell me your name? I can say it for you.”

Well, fuck. That’s a bit of a low blow.

            “I won’t tell anyone, I swear. I know you don’t know me, but I keep my promises.”

            What harm could a first name do? Except that now Rich knows he lives in Montréal, his height, and the fact that his height is average for his profession. It’s not that hard to take a leap to hockey. And with his first name, it’ll be as easy as a quick Google search for “Jack” and “Montréal.”

 **JLinCanada:** My name is Jack.

            “Jack,” he says, his smile crooked. Jack can see his arm working quicker. “Your name is Jack. Not Jacques?”

 **JLinCanada:** I go by Jack. My mom is American.

            “Jack,” he says again, eyes slipping half-closed. “Is your voice deep?

 **JLinCanada:** Yeah.

            “When you come, are you quiet or loud?”

 **JLinCanada:** Very quiet. Silent.

            “That’s a pity.” He’s sounding strained now in a way Jack’s never heard. He realizes with a jolt that everything he’s seen until now has been a performance, a show, and what he’s getting right now is Rich genuinely turned on, genuinely about to come. “I bet I could make you loud.”

 **JLinCanada:** I know you could.

            “Are you touching yourself now?”

            Now he is.

 **JLinCanada:** Now I am.

            “Will you come with me?”

 **JLinCanada:** I can try. Already came twice.

            “Third time’s a charm.”

            Jack huffs a laugh, using the lube in his nightstand to ease his way along his cock. He has trouble typing one-handed.

 **JLinCanada:** yeah

            “My first name is Eric,” he says, eyes slipping shut the rest of the way. His breath is fluttering and soft, his voice thin and sweet. “You can call me Eric, if you want.”

            It is a revelation. Rich doesn’t fit him at all, but Eric…Eric does. He looks like an Eric.

 **JLinCanada:** Eric. Hi.

            Eric laughs quietly before he groans, all soft and low, very unlike his on-screen self. “God, Jack. Jack.”

            Oh, God. Eric. Fuck. Eric.

            This orgasm is a slow wrench from deep inside him. He finds himself groaning quietly, muscles seizing up. All in all, it’s a little pathetic of an orgasm, really, but it’s his third so he can’t be held accountable. This has to be Eric’s fifth or sixth, at least, but he looks much more mussed and sleepy-eyed than he usually does.

            “That was good,” Eric says slowly, and his voice is all kinds softened consonants and drawling molasses.

 **JLinCanada:** Yeah?

            “Yeah. Did you come?”

 **JLinCanada:** I did. It was like a half-orgasm. My body didn’t really have the energy for more.

            He laughs. His laugh is very nice, and sounds different from his usual laugh. This one sounds shy and charmed. “God, I want to know what you look like. Wow. Sorry. I’m embarrassing myself now.”

 **JLinCanada:** What? How?

            “Because! I don’t do this! I’ve had this channel for a year now, and I’ve never, like.” He waves his hand around as if that means something. “I don’t talk one on one to people. I don’t give them my name. What did you do to me?”

            Jack doesn’t respond at first. Then,

 **JLinCanada:** I could say the same thing.

            “Why me?” He leans forward toward his screen, and oh God, there are the freckles. He has freckles.

 **JLinCanada:** Sorry. I got distracted by your freckles.

            “Oh!” He puts a hand to his face. “Ugh, they’re awful. It’s because I didn’t wear enough sunscreen this summer.”

 **JLinCanada:** I think you’re cute.

            “Ugh,” he says again, but he’s smiling. “Answer me. Why me?”

 **JLinCanada:** That’s an embarrassing answer.

            “What? Why?”

 **JLinCanada:** Because. I’m kind of pathetic.

            Eric gives him a look. “The people who frequent my site are not pathetic. Don’t be rude.”

            He hurriedly types out his response, not wanting Eric to think him mean.

 **JLinCanada:** No, no, what I mean is…I’m lonely.

 **JLinCanada:** I’ve been lonely a long time.

 **JLinCanada:** But I have a lot of anxiety and my job sort of consumes my life, so I just got bored one night and was looking for…something.

 **JLinCanada:** I wanted to feel something.

            It’s the most he’s told anyone about himself, he thinks. He hasn’t even brought this up to his therapist.

            Eric’s eyes shift across the screen as he reads. Then he softens all over. Jack would like to wake up next to him and get that look from those eyes. “Oh, honey. Do I help you? To feel something good?”

 **JLinCanada:** Yes, you do. But it’s not enough. Because I can’t have any more than this, and you are not obligated to give it.

            Eric flushes a little more. “I know I’m not obligated, but. I mean, I would…make an exception for you.”

 **JLinCanada:** I can’t. I just can’t. 

            Eric looks down at his lap for a long moment. “Jack, I…can we talk voice to voice? I just. I want to really talk to you.” He hesitates. He looks particularly unsure. “Is that okay?” 

 **JLinCanada:** I want to. I really want to.

            “I’m starting to think you’re probably some high profile guy,” he says carefully, “like maybe a CEO with an estranged wife and kids or something. But I can keep a secret.”

            He’s so surprised by that assumption that his fingers fly across his keyboard.

 **JLinCanada:** What? No, not married, no kids.

            “I can’t possibly find out who you are from your voice, can I?” He sounds so earnest. Jack swallows hard. He looks at the settings on his Skype. “Jack? Are you still with—oh!”

            There’s a click of a few buttons. Eric looks like he’s holding his breath. “Jack?”

            “Hi,” Jack says, quietly.

 

 

            It becomes a regular thing. They talk through Skype, Eric always on video and Jack on audio only. At first it’s once or twice a week, usually after the Saturday sessions that Jack can make, and sometime midweek when Jack has time. But by the time the new year rolls around, they’re talking daily, even if it’s only a few minutes. As his clock changes to 12:01AM on January first, Jack is completely alone, watching tape on his laptop, and is surprised when a video chat request comes through from Eric.

            He takes it, turning his camera off. “Happy new year,” he says softly. Eric is covered in glitter, his eyes glassy as he toots a little horn.

            “Happy new year, Jack! Canadians celebrate new year, right?”

            Jack snorts. “Yeah, of course we do. You look like you had a good new year.”

            “I did! What did you do?”

            Jack snorts again. “What do you think?”

            Eric’s face falls, that stupid mouth of his in a genuine frown. “You’re alone? That’s not fair! It’s the new year!”

            “Where are you, exactly?” The room looks different, more like an office than Eric’s bedroom.

            “I’m actually at my parents’ house. They threw a big party this year. I snuck the laptop up to the study to Skype you.” He’s all red, but Jack can’t tell if that’s because of alcohol or him. It doesn’t matter. He’s pleased either way.

            “You snuck out of a party to Skype me?”

            “Shut up. I don’t like that you’re alone.”

            “I’m fine. I’m just watching tape.” He cuts himself off abruptly. He’d been so careful for the last month.

            Eric hones in on it. Even drunk, he’s got a laser eye out for anything Jack says that could be construed as personal. “Watching tape? What kind of tape? For what?”

            “I plead the fifth.”

            “That’s an American thing! It doesn’t work for Canadians!”

            “I have dual citizenship.”

            “Not fair!”

            “Totally fair. Go back to your party.”

            Eric shoves a hand through his hair, pushing it out of his eyes. It’s curling at the tips, and Jack’s heart is wrecked. “You know, I’ve meant to bring this up before, but you talk like you type. All deadpan.”

            “So you’re saying my voice is flat.”

            “No! I actually really like it. It’s very deep.”

            Ever since they started chatting voice to voice regularly, there hasn’t been much…sex between them. Jack doesn’t mind. He doesn’t think Eric does either. This is better; it’s the connection he wanted the whole time. “I like your accent,” he finds himself saying. Eric ignores that, because he’s mentioned before that he hates his accent even though Jack finds it cute.

            “Tell me something in Québécois. Please.”

            Jack smiles a little, liking the way Eric pronounces it now. “Bonne année.”

            “Oh, what’s that?”

            “Happy new year.”

            Eric rolls his eyes. “Oh, come on. Tell me something better than _that_.”

            Jack thinks for a long moment. He’s pleased that Eric called; sometimes, the surprise of his name coming up on Skype makes Jack’s heart roll around like a marble in his chest, and his stomach clenches with excitement and nervousness. Eric makes him very nervous, even now, but it’s a good nervous. He wants to keep this nervous.

            So he tells Eric all of this in Québécois, watching his reaction. It’s instantaneous, his eyes going all heavy-lidded and his mouth slackening. Eric has pestered him for Québécois before, but Jack has never given in like this. Not with so many sentences. Not with so much _feeling_.

            “Jesus,” Eric says in a sigh. “What did you say?”

            “Nothing important. Go enjoy your party, eh?”

            “God, you’re cute.”

            Now he flushes heavily. “Stop that. I have work to do.”

            “I’ll bet you do.” He gives Jack that _look_ he knows Jack likes so much. “Want to work me up a little later?”

            “I’ll probably be asleep.”

            “You won’t wait up for me?”

            “Eh,” Jack says, just to get that horrified reaction he’s getting now. He can’t help but to laugh a little. “I’m teasing.”

            “I hope so.” Eric pauses, looking dreamily into the camera lens. “God, you’re so cute. Will you show me your picture one day?”

            Jack’s quiet for a moment. “Yeah. One day.”

            Eric perks up. “What, really? You mean it?”

            “Yeah, I mean it. I promise. I’m just not ready yet.”

            “That’s okay,” he says quickly, and most of his drunken joy is gone. Now he just looks…happy. Eager. “Wow, I’m—thanks. I’m really excited. I have this picture of you in my head but I just don’t know…”

            “I can send you a baby picture,” Jack says. “I was a really ugly baby.”

            It takes Eric a good minute before he’s done laughing his ass off. “No way!”

            “Yeah. Here.” He sends the picture over via an attachment and waits.

            “Holy _shit_ ,” Eric breathes, hand over his mouth. “Oh, bless your little heart. I’ve never seen a baby that ugly in my life.”

            “I told you. I’d like to think that I’ve improved over the years.”

            “I’m sorry, I am just really shocked by this picture, because…I thought all babies were cute in some way. But this is just a whole different level of unattractive.”

            “I’ve changed,” Jack insists.

            Eric gives him that _look_. “Prove it.”

            Jack sighs. “Soon. I can promise that.”

            “Your soon or my soon?”

            “What’s your soon?”

            “Right now.”

            Jack smiles at him, chest filling with warmth. He is so utterly smitten, and he tells Eric so—in Québécois.

            “What was that?” Eric says, eyes wide and beautiful. “You can’t just talk to me in French and not tell me what it was.”

            “Yes, I can. That’s my prerogative as a bilinguist.”

            “Hot. I forgive you.”

            “Good. Go join your party.”

            “Let me call you back later.”

            “If you like.” He pauses. “I’ll just be watching tape.”

            “Watching tape,” Eric says slowly. “I’m going to Google that and see what I come up with.”

            Jack…did not think of that. “You do that,” he says instead, and his voice is softer than before. “Talk to you later.”

            “Bye!”

            The video disconnects and Jack returns to his tape, chewing on his nails as he waits impatiently for another call.

 

            It’s nearly two when the video request comes in. Jack answers it.

            “So I Googled ‘watching tape,’” Eric says, and he looks like he’s in a bedroom now—not his own—and dressed in pajamas. Glitter is nowhere to be found on his golden skin. But now his face is very serious, and Jack’s stomach swoops hard. “I found something about NFL coaches first.”

            “Oh?” This is it. He’s going to put it together.

            “But you’re in Montréal, you said. So I’m pretty sure you don’t play football. But you’re six-one, which is average for your profession, and you’re very reluctant to tell me anything about your job, and your name is Jack. So I Googled ‘Jack Montréal sport.’ Do you know what I found?”

            Jack is utterly silent now. He has no idea what to say.

            “Jack,” Eric says, soft, as though he can read his mind. “It’s okay. I promise, promise, promise I won’t tell.”

            “Nobody can know,” he says, and his voice is strained. He feels like he can’t breathe, and not in the good way. Why would this have ended well? He can’t have anything good. “Eric, I—I can’t—”

            “Shh, shh, don’t get upset. It’s okay, I promise you. Please. Just take a breath, okay? Everything’s okay. Honey, please. I just. I’m so—fuck, I’m so happy, I—I’m sorry, I know this is…getting weird, I shouldn’t…”

            He’s never stuttered so much before. Jack’s heart is pounding out of his chest and Eric looks like he’s about to cry. “You’re Jack Zimmermann,” he says, and when he swallows his throat clicks. “And I’m Eric Bittle.”

            “Bittle.”

            “My friends call me Bitty. Because I’m itty bitty, see?” He rubs at his eyes a little, his smile huge in his face. His dimples are extra prominent. “Oh, Jack. I spent like twenty minutes looking at pictures of you. You are _gorgeous_. Wow.”

            He flushes, hesitating before flipping on his side table light. He turns his video on.

            Eric blinks, then his mouth drops open into a little O. “Jack…”

            “Hi.”

            “Oh my God.”

            He scrubs a hand over his hair. “It’s been a while since I had a haircut,” he says, his way of apologizing. “I get so focused during the season I don’t really have much time for anything else.”

            “You make time for me,” Eric says, and his eyes are moving across his screen like he’s trying to take in everything he sees. “I realize now how hard that must be for you. Professional athletes have it tough.”

            “The million-dollar contracts help.”

            Eric slaps a hand over his face. “Oh my God, you’re a millionaire.”

            “Yeah.” He smiles a little, and the look on Eric’s face is incandescent.

            “Jack. _Wow_.”

            He doesn’t know what to say, looking down instead at his keyboard. “What?”

            “I just can’t believe I’m looking at you right now. I mean, the pictures were one thing, and that _Sports Illustrated_ special was interesting, but…you are. You’re so beautiful.”

            “Stop.”

            “What?”

            “Now you can see me blushing.”

            Eric laughs and it sounds delighted. “I’m not going to complain. My goodness, I could look at you for days and days.”

            “You saw my baby picture,” he points out, shifting higher up on his bed and pushing pillows around.

            “You weren’t kidding about the massive transformation,” he says, settling against his own pillows now as well. They fall quiet, simply looking at one another. “I’m near Atlanta right now at my parents’ house.”

            Jack’s heart drops right to his fucking feet. “Oh?”

            “Yeah.” Eric licks his lips. “I saw…I may have looked at the team schedule, and I see you’re playing Atlanta on Thursday?”

            “I—I am.”

            “So the town I’m in here is super small,” Eric says, and Jack isn’t sure where he’s going with this yet, “but there is like this _one bar_ that my dad’s friend owns, and I think what I’m going to do is go down there for the game and make them put it on the big TV. I could see you play, right? I mean, you’re the captain. So you play regularly, right?”

            Jack’s smile spreads slowly. “You don’t know anything about hockey, do you?”

            Eric hides his face for a long moment before he peeks through his fingers. “I know who Wayne Gretzky is, I know what a puck is, and I’ve heard of a Zamboni.”

            “Is that it?”

            “Don’t make _fun_. I’m from the south! I know more about football than I do anything else.”

            “Except baking, right?”

            Instantly Eric is all golden-bright again. “Jack, I am an expert pie baker.”

            “I believe it.”

            “Do you _really_?” He winks. Jack is so charmed he can’t help the helpless sigh that eases out of his chest.

            “I really, really do.” He hesitates. “Did you…I mean, do you really want to watch the game at a bar?”

            Eric chews on his nail. He’s flushed red again. “Are you offering to get me a ticket?”

            “I could.”

            There’s another long pause. Jack is holding his breath; it looks like Eric may be doing the same. “I want to,” he says slowly, “but I’m feeling very…overwhelmed by what’s happened over the last couple of months, and while I would…very much like to meet you in person, I might have to try next time? If that makes sense?”

            Jack lets out a slow breath. “Yeah, I completely understand. I’m…struggling.”

            “Struggling?”

            “I’m not used to wanting things so much,” he admits, looking down at his keyboard again, because his keyboard is safe; it doesn’t have deep brown eyes. “I don’t _want_ things outside of hockey, and I’ve had a very specific routine for six years now. You’ve changed all that. You scare me, Eric.”

            “You scare me too, Jack.” His voice is a little wobbly. “But I fucking love being scared by you.”

            They fall quiet together again. Jack finally looks up and meets his eyes. He’s never been in love like this before.

            “Jack,” Eric says.

            “Yeah?”

            “You should sleep.”

            It’s five hours past when he should’ve been passed out. “I never stay up this late.”

            “I know you don’t.” His smile is crooked. “Your preferred bedtime according to NHL.com is ‘as soon as the game ends.’”

            Jack smiles at that. Despite his fears, part of him is incredibly relieved. Eric knows who he is. And still clearly likes him. Before he can stop himself, he says, “I really do like you, you know.”

            “I know. Lucky for me, ‘cause I feel the same.”

            “Yeah? Nobody else?”

            “Nobody else. Nobody else at all. Only you.” He tilts his head, eyes starting to droop sleepily. “Will it bother you if I continue my site?”

            “No, actually. Not at all. I really don’t mind.”

            “Because I find that I would mind if the roles were reversed.”

            “Good,” Jack says.

            “Good? Jealousy is good?” His voice is teasing, but Jack can hear the worry.

            “Nobody’s ever been jealous over me before.”

            Eric sighs. “Oh, Jack.”

            They hang up shortly after that, but Jack smiles while he settles into bed.

 

 

            “So,” Eric says. “That thing is called…a what again?”

            “Hat trick,” Jack says, propping his laptop onto his kitchen counter while he pulls takeout from the fridge. “Three goals in one game.”

            “And that’s good.”

            “No.”

            “No?”

            “That’s very good.”

            Eric laughs at that. His voice is more muffled than it usually is; he’s back at his dorm after the holiday break, and there’s a party going on. Jack can hear the music but doesn’t know what it is. He hasn’t yet admitted to Eric just how much he _doesn’t_ know about popular music. “So you’re saying,” he drawls playfully, “that you are a god on the ice.”

            “No, I’m not saying that. But ESPN did.”

            That laugh again. Jack makes it happen a lot now, and he preens a little each time. He shoves his Chinese takeout into the microwave to heat up. As soon as Eric hears the sound of a microwave, he gives Jack a sour look. “I sent you six recipes. What are you heating up in a _microwave_?”

            “I’m tired,” Jack argues. “Besides, this has protein and carbs, which is all I really need after—”

            “Stop making excuses! Jack! The recipes were _easy_!”

            “I’m tired,” he insists.

            Eric huffs a sigh but doesn’t retaliate. When he says, “Are you sure you’re tired?” Jack responds like he’s been summoned. He focuses in on the laptop a little more.

            “Don’t you share a dorm with like six other guys?”

            “Five. And I’m alone in the room. The door is locked.”

            “How do you even keep up with your site?”

            “We have an understanding.” Eric’s voice softens. “Are you sure you’re tired?”

            They haven’t gotten off together on video yet. Jack gets too awkward and uncomfortable and has to switch to audio only. “I guess I’m not that tired,” he says.  
            “Take me to your bedroom.”

            Jack groans a little, forgetting about his food as he picks up his laptop and carries it into his bedroom.

            “Don’t turn the video off,” Eric says, and his words are coaxing. “Let me see you come for me. You know I’ve wanted it for a while.”

            “I know.”

            “Let me have it?”

            Jack props the laptop on one of his pillows, shifting to get comfortable. His cock is already throbbing in his sweatpants. “I—I’ll try not to, but I get self-conscious about the way I look.”

            “You look gorgeous.”

            “Says you.”

            “I’m the only one who matters.”

            When he looks over at his screen, Bitty’s Samwell University t-shirt is off, and his skin is pinkening as he grows more aroused. It’s his tell. If he’s not pink, he’s not turned on enough. “Jack, take off your shirt.”

            He obeys. He’s good at following directions, as Eric has discovered, and waits for his next instruction. Eric watches him steadily for nearly thirty seconds. Jack simply waits. He knows Eric likes being in charge, since he spends so much of his time being told what to do by strangers.

            “Now your pants.”

            Jack slides out of those easily, wearing nothing underneath.

            “Angle the camera. Let me see your cock.”

            This is the part Jack starts to have trouble with, but Eric’s voice is soothing, smooth as butter. He takes a deep, slow breath, and adjusts the angle of his laptop. He can just see his own little picture in the corner, his body pale against his dark red sheets.

            “Good,” Eric breathes, and Jack watches him, loves the deep flush of his chest. “Touch your fingertips to your cock. Start at the base, slide up. Slow.”

            “Eric…”

            “Please.”

            Jack closes his eyes briefly, biting at his lip as he does as asked, exactly as he understands it.

            “Pull your foreskin down a little. Let me see the head.”

            He does.

            “Press your thumb into the slit. Lightly.”

            He does.

            “How does it feel?”

            “’s okay,” he says, shaky.

            “Just okay?”

            “Wish you were here.”

            “I know, honey. But I can make you come.”

            And he does, even though it takes longer than usual because Jack is so aware of himself and of Eric, but eventually he does, and he keeps the camera on. Eric has already come himself, it seems, when Jack has enough faculties to pay attention, and his skin is still that delicious pink Jack likes so much.

            “I missed it?” he says, disappointed. Eric gives that rich laugh of his that he has only once he’s come with Jack.

            “You’ll see it again, don’t worry. Thank you for keeping the camera on. You—you were amazing. I just…”

            “What?” Jack looks at Eric’s flushed face, falling serious. “What can I do better next time?”

            Eric barks out a laugh. “What?”

            “You…you were going to offer…um. I’m used to criticism about…ah. My performances.”   He winces at the way it sounds. “On the ice, I mean.”

            Eric looks at him with a dreamy expression. “God, you’re so cute.”

            “I’m serious. What were you going to say?”

            “I wish you could let yourself make some noise,” he says at last. “I just want to hear you.”

            “I’ll be able to one day,” Jack says, running a hand through his hair. “I’m just slow. Sorry.”

            There’s a chiding tone in Eric’s voice as he says, “I wasn’t fishing for an apology. I’m just telling you what I’d like. You tell me what you’d like.” His smile widens. “Me eating you out and fucking you.”

            Jack turns off the video just to make Eric laugh.

 

 

            On Valentine’s Day, Jack has an early afternoon game in Tampa that’s televised on NBC. He settles into his hotel room for the evening, after allowing a small celebration with his team. The Habs are doing well, but now that the game is over, Jack is eager to get back to his evening routine.

            He has four messages waiting for him when he gets in, all from Eric’s personal handle, which they use exclusively now.

 

 **EBittle:** Hey!! Nice assist!

 **EBittle:** Oh my God, your ass looks so good on the giant common room TV.

 **EBittle:** This girl in my poli sci class swears she blew you when she was in Philadelphia. I call shenanigans.

 **EBittle:** I think we should talk.

 

            His heart lurches at the last one—it doesn’t sound good. He takes a deep breath and messages Eric back.

 

 **JLinCanada:** Hi, I’m here.

 

            The video request is immediate. Falling back into old habits of self-consciousness, Jack declines the video on his end.

            “Hi!” Eric says, excited. He’s in his dorm room but it’s quiet on his end; everyone must be out partying instead. Eric’s face falls as his eyes search the screen. “Is your video out?”

            “No,” Jack mumbles, running a hand over his still-damp hair. “Your last message made me worried, and I don’t want you to look at my face when you break up with me.”

            Eric’s eyes soften. “That’s not at all what I was going to do, you big idiot. But we can’t break up if we’re not actually together, right? _That’s_ what I wanted to talk about.”

            “What?” He’s never been good with…things.

            “Jack, we’ve been…doing this thing for a few months now. We seem to have a regular schedule. I feel—I mean, I feel like we have a pretty strong connection, don’t you?”

            He nods before he realizes Eric can’t see him. “Yeah, I—yeah, for sure.”

            “I _know_ you care about me, but—I.” His skin is flushed hotly and he runs a hand over his messy blonde hair. “I just…want to be official. Even if it’s only between us.”

            “Are you asking me to be your boyfriend?” He can’t help the smile that creeps into his voice.

            Eric’s eyes go all soft again. “Yeah, I am. If you’ll have me.”

            He turns the video on. “Yeah. Definitely.” He can’t stop smiling.

            “Lord, you’re cute.” Eric’s grin is wide as well before he sobers a little. “I just want you to know that I understand this is only between us. If anyone asks, I’m single. I just.” He hides his face for a moment in his hand. “I just wanted to know I had a boyfriend on Valentine’s Day, that’s all.”

            Jack laughs a little, reclining back on his hotel room pillows. Unlike most of his team, he enjoys being in hotel rooms. It’s like a mini vacation all the time. “I guess I just sort of assumed that that’s what we were doing, you know? I’m sorry I didn’t think to…voice it.”

            “That’s okay. I heard they used to call you Mr. Roboto. I’ll forgive you a little slip like that.”

            Groaning, Jack puts his face in his hands. “Don’t remind me. I swear I’ve gotten a little better since then.”

            “Obviously you have, since you’re the captain.”

            “Sometimes I wonder about that. Brendan always seemed like a better fit for the boys.”

            Eric tilts his head. It’s then that Jack realizes that he’s…he’s wearing a Canadiens t-shirt. “What do you mean? Jack, don’t forget, for an hour after I figured out who you were, literally all I did was Google you. Your accomplishments are kind of amazing and I’m still learning about hockey. You’re a phenomenal teammate.”

            “Stop it. I’m blushing.”

            “I know. It’s a good look on you.”

            They flirt casually for a little while after that, then Eric uses that special voice of his and they get each other off. Jack ends up turning off the video at the end, but he lets himself make a small noise in his throat, just for Eric, who is utterly charmed by it and gazes at Jack for nearly ten minutes afterward. Jack almost tells him he loves him, but stops himself.

            “So,” Eric says, as they’re wrapping up their conversation, “you’re playing Boston in mid-March, right?”

            “Yeah. Thursday game, two days off, then back in Montréal.”

            Eric is quiet for a long moment. “Did I ever tell you where Samwell is?”

            Jack’s got that swooshy feeling in his stomach again. “No.”

            “And you didn’t get curious enough to Google?”

            He shrugs, flushing. “No.”

            “I’m forty minutes from Boston.”

            He looks down at his keyboard. For months now, Eric has given him the same feeling in his chest that hockey does, and nothing in his life has ever made Jack feel the way hockey does. “I see.”

            “So…” That voice is teasing.

            “You want a ticket?” He looks up to see the reaction on that round little face.

            “Yes.” Eric smiles. “Yes, I do.”

 

 

            As the weeks go by leading up to mid-March, Jack has learned a lot about Eric Richard Bittle, such as:

 

\- He is 22, a junior, and is majoring in American Studies with a concentration in Food Culture

\- He would like to own a bakery one day

\- His favorite color is blue (“Like your eyes, Mr. Zimmermann.” “Shut up.”)

\- He has a stuffed rabbit that he sleeps with every night whose name is Señor Bunny

\- His parents don’t know he’s gay, but pretty much the whole school does

\- His closest friends on campus are a guy named Shitty (?) and a girl named Lardo (????)

\- His favorite artist is Beyoncé

\- He often wears short shorts and then sends Jack selfies

\- He procrastinates his homework _all the time_

\- He has a complete inability to grow any facial hair at all

\- He’s shit at languages

\- The first time he had sex was such a disastrous, embarrassing experience he refuses to talk about it

\- The first time he had sex was the only time he’s had sex (this distracted Jack for a while)

\- He put his first video online of himself jacking off when he was drunk, then someone commented and said he could sell his dick and make some money, so that’s what got him involved in the website—and paid for his first year at Samwell after years in Georgia at community college

\- His southern accent increases exponentially based on his level of drunkenness or tiredness

\- He completely adores Jack

 

            Shockingly, Jack has given a lot of himself as well, though most of it Eric had probably already discovered from his Wikipedia article and the various links:

 

\- He is bilingual, and his first language was Québécois

\- He was drafted right out of high school…

\- …which he then fucked up when he overdosed on anti-anxiety meds and was in rehab for almost a year

\- He still struggles with his anxiety every day, but he has a sponsor, a good therapist he can reach by phone and text as needed, and a healthy dose of medication

\- He has not had a panic attack in almost a year

\- The Habs organization took a risk with him and signed him less than a year after his release from rehab…

\- …and they have not regretted it since

\- He does not know pop culture hardly at all (“I cannot fucking _believe_ you have never seen any of _The Real Housewives_.” “I think I saw that once. Isn’t that the show with the lady?” “Jesus Christ, Jack.”)

\- Jack has several nicknames with the press, though his teammates just call him Jack

\- Some of these nicknames include “Mr. Roboto,” “The Ice Man,” and “Zimmers.”

\- Jack does not like nicknames

\- Except when Eric calls him things like “darlin’” and “sweetheart,” those are okay because…

\- …he completely adores Eric

 

            They’ve finally moved on to texting and FaceTime, which is a lot more convenient than always taking out his computer. Eric’s texts are charming, and he’s been incredibly understanding and respectful of Jack’s strict routine during the day—he texts Eric once in the morning to say good morning, but will not respond until after either his game or his workouts are done.

            For his effort, Jack often gets half a dozen selfies in that time, most recently one of Eric with his friends Shitty and Lardo.

            “I need to ask you something,” Eric says, when they’re on the phone right before Jack heads to bed. Jack is already settled in for the night with the light off, and if he imagines it as best as he can, it’s almost like Eric is in bed with him.

            “Oh no,” Jack says, deadpan. “Are you breaking up with me again?”

            “Hush, you.”

            “Hey, it made you laugh.”

            “It did.” He pauses. “So I was watching your game today and Shitty and Lardo watched it with me. I had no idea they, you know, _really_ like hockey. They’re Boston fans.”

            “Gross,” Jack says, and Eric laughs again.

            “I was wondering…I know you’re getting me a ticket, and I know this is the first time we’re going to be meeting and it’s supposed to be special, but I won’t lie, I’m really, really nervous about meeting you face to face, so I don’t think we need _chaperones_ or anything like that, but I’m just wondering—”

            “I’ll get three tickets,” Jack interrupts, because if he doesn’t Eric can go on and on for days. “Eric. Of course I’ll get three tickets.”

            There’s another long pause. “I also would like to tell them about you. And us.”

            For a moment, Jack is very nervous by this. The more people that know means the more opportunity there is for it to get out, which he is just not ready for. “You know I’m not ashamed of you, right?” His voice is aggressive and he tries to soften it. “People bother me enough. I like my private life to stay private.”

            “I know, honey. I agree with you completely, you know that, but.” He sighs. “They’ve been trying to set me up with guys on campus because they think I’m lonely. They’re my best friends, and I know that if I told them they would not tell.”

            Jack doesn’t say anything for several seconds. “I trust you. If you trust them, you can tell them.”

            “Really?”

            He laughs. “Yeah. Did you think I’d say no? Eric, I trust your judgment.”

            “Oh, Jack.” It’s all he says, but Jack hears a whole lot more. “You know, when you call me Eric, they’re going to laugh hysterically.”

            “What? Why?”

            “Because they call me Bitty.”

            “Since you’re itty bitty.”

            “Right.” He sighs. “I can’t believe I get to see you in like a week.”

            Jack runs a hand through his hair, exhaling slowly. “I’m gonna end up throwing up.”

            “What! No! Why?”

            “When I get too nervous, I throw up. I think I threw up before every game for two years.”

            Eric laughs at that. “You’re so cute.”

            “You tell me that all the time.”

            “Because it’s always true. You’re just so cute.”

            “I weigh two hundred and ten pounds. Don’t think I’m that cute.”

            “Mmm. Want to tell me more about how you’re built?”

            Jack snorts. “I need to sleep, _Bitty_.”

            “I can’t figure out if I like you calling me that or not. We should keep trying it.”

            “Night, Bitty.”

            “Night, Jack.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Thursday on the East Coast, so here y'all go. :)

            Bitty has never been so nervous in his entire life. He’s up at four in the morning after falling asleep just before two, and he takes an exceptionally long, hot shower, scrubbing himself squeaky clean. He combs and fluffs and blowdries and gels his hair. He uses deodorant twice, trims his nails, and spends two hours selecting clothes for their two-night trip. Shitty booked the hotel room—close to TD Garden—and they plan to check in at four. The game is at seven. They’ll be at the stadium at six to pick up the tickets from will call.

            “I still can’t believe,” Shitty says, around eight that morning while Bitty makes enough pancakes to feed the entire Habs team, “that you are dating the captain of the Montréal Canadiens. I just cannot believe it.”

            “Well, it’s true,” Bitty says, drizzling maple syrup all over a giant stack newly warmed from the griddle. “And I’m going to throw up over it.”

            “I still can’t believe you haven’t _met_ him yet.”

            “I am going to vomit.”

            “But even more than that,” Shitty says, and now he’s sitting on the counter watching Bitty mix another dozen pancakes, “I can’t believe you became acquainted with him through your porn site.”

            “Don’t bring that up to him, he’s all shy about it.” Bitty presses a hand to his eyes. “I can’t do this. I am seriously going to blow chunks.”

            “Don’t, bro. You’re currently mixing up my blueberry pancakes. I would hate to blow my own chunks.”

            Bitty likes his and Lardo’s house that they share with four other people Bitty has yet to actually talk to; the kitchen is nice and allows him the opportunity to bake in peace. His dorm kitchen leaves _so much_ to be desired. “Go get Lardo, we need to eat and get on the road.”

            “Um,” Shitty says, but when Bitty brandishes the whisk, Shitty runs out of the room.

            It takes Lardo’s calm, cool influence to convince Bitty that no, they don’t need to leave before nine to get to the hotel by four when it’s less than an hour away.

            Bitty gets a text from Jack around ten, which is unheard of—Jack strictly texts good morning, then nothing else until his hockey is done for the day. But this text makes Bitty catch his breath. _Thinking about you. I’m excited. I still may throw up, but I’m excited. Thought you should know._

            There’s even four happy, blushing smiley faces.

            Bitty sends back about four dozen hearts before crashing on the couch in a nap.

 

            The ride to Boston is quick. The hotel is funky and decidedly cheap. They have an early dinner, where Bitty can’t eat a fucking thing. He keeps wringing his fingers together and looking around, wondering what Jack’s doing, if Jack will randomly show up—Bitty texted him to say where they were going to dinner—but there’s nothing. Then, suddenly, after all his waiting, it’s six o’clock and they’re walking up to the will call counter.

            “Um,” he says to the lady, rubbing sweating hands on his corduroys, “the name is Eric Bittle?”

            “ID?” she says, flipping through her paperwork.

            He shows her his ID. She smiles. “You look way too young to be twenty-two, you know.”

            “Yes, ma’am,” he says, giving her a smile. “I get that _all_ the time.”

            She hands him a little envelope, which he's startled to see has handwriting on it. It has to be Jack’s handwriting. _Hope you enjoy the game._ Oh God. This is real. He really is dating the captain of the Montréal Canadiens. Oh God, oh God, oh God.

            “Did you know that your legs do in fact currently work?” Lardo says mildly, looping her arm through Bitty’s. “Come on.” She lowers her voice and speaks right into his ear. “Personally, I am very excited to see your boyfriend’s ass up close.”

            “Me too,” he whispers back, and lets her and Shitty lead him into the stadium.

            The stadium is huge and very busy, and Bitty still has his peacoat on but he is very aware that he is wearing his Canadiens t-shirt under a red hoodie and everyone here is in Bruins gear—including Shitty and Lardo, the traitors. They have to drag him to their seats, and when Bitty sees where they are, he stops dead.

            “What’s wrong with him?” Bitty says, and his voice sounds very high and tight. “He’s nervous enough with me here, why would he put us there?”

            They’re in the first row behind the player’s bench for the away team.

            Shitty whistles and settles into one of the seats, stretching out. “Shit, it’s like this is a hockey player’s mating ritual. I feel like he’s going to try to prove he’s the most desirable male on the ice. Do you think his mating call is the sound of a Zamboni?”

            “He’s awful,” Bitty breathes, covering his very red face with his hand. “I can’t do this. I’m going to go puke in the bathroom.”

            Lardo picks him up and pushes him down the aisle. “Sit your ass down, Bits. It’s _fine_.”

            What is he _doing_? Bitty pulls out his phone and texts Jack that exact question. Followed by a shot of the ice from his seat. Followed by four smileys that look like Munch’s _The Scream._

            His phone buzzes seconds later and he nearly throws it.

 _I’ve gotta conquer my fear_ , the text says. _I’m gonna try to get you a hat trick_.

            Bitty swallows. _I hear those are good_.

 _Non. They’re very good_.

            And that’s the last text Bitty gets until the players start coming onto the ice not thirty minutes later. During that time, Bitty has gone to the bathroom twice, thrown up once, and is sipping a Sprite he’s sharing with Shitty. When the Canadiens flood the ice, Bitty has to put his head between his knees. His heart is pounding so hard he thinks it’s going to burst.

            “Dude,” Shitty says, with a hand on the back of his neck. “Dude, dude. Bitty. Look up. There he is, number one.”

            Bitty jerks up and stares at the ice. Yes. There he is, last one out of the…tunnel or wherever it is they come out of, circling the ice with his teammates. Jack. Looking as serious as he ever does on TV, and not looking over at the bench at all until he circles closer.

            Bitty is not breathing. He is legitimately, honestly holding his breath, and his first thought is how much bigger Jack looks up close like this. His second thought is that he’s watched that boy jerk off.

            Jack smiles. It’s a little thing, an indulgence, Bitty thinks, because Jack doesn’t let anything get in the way of his focus. His eyes flick down to Bitty’s shirt, which is clearly visible, and his smile gets a little wider.

            Bitty is going to faint. He doesn’t even smile back, he doesn’t think, because he is so completely overwhelmed with _his own feelings_.

            “Close your mouth, it’s unbecoming,” Shitty says, tapping Bitty’s chin. Bitty shuts his mouth. As soon as Jack slides into the bench, Shitty presses his face right up to the glass and shouts, “GO BRUINS!”

            It makes Jack shake his head, and Bitty relaxes a little—just a tiny little bit.

 

            In a shocking turn of events, Bitty is one of the loudest, most raucous fans in the arena. He thinks his protective instincts get the better of him, because the second someone shouts something rude at one of the Canadiens—not even Jack himself—Bitty is on his feet and snapping back in a heartbeat.

            Shitty is so sure Bitty’s going to be killed he’s asking him to text him his famous maple-crust apple pie recipe.

            “Brah, you need to calm down,” Shitty finally says, dragging Bitty back into his seat. “Everyone knows you love Montréal, just _calm down_ , brah, calm down.”

            “How dare they!” Bitty says, and Lardo just rolls her eyes, standing in front of her seat with her hands in her pockets and calmly watching the game.

            Then, in the second period, Jack starts scoring some goals. Bitty goes wild (Bitty and roughly six other people, as far as he can tell).

            Jack starts scoring some goals that are causing Boston to shut the fuck up.

            Jack ends the second period with four goals by himself.

            He doesn’t look at Bitty when he returns to the bench, but Bitty is so proud and so delighted and so completely _horrifically turned on_ that his face hurts from smiling so much, and he’s glad his corduroys are thicker than his jeans, because he is half-hard right now. He obviously knows Jack is a phenomenal player, but seeing his athletic prowess up close is…invigorating.

            Then, Jack does something extraordinary: In the third period, he scores three more goals.

            “That’s tied for the most goals by a single player in a game,” Lardo tells Bitty, who may or may not be having an asthma attack. She’s on a Wikipedia page for hockey goals. “If he gets one more, he makes NHL history. But even if he doesn’t, no one’s done this since 1920.”

            Despite Boston’s suddenly awful defense, Jack does not get his eighth goal. Bitty thinks he’s okay with that—he got two and a third hat tricks for him. And the Canadiens win 9-1, which probably makes Jack even happier.

            They let the stadium trickle out once the game ends, and Bitty pulls his phone out of his pocket when he feels it buzzing. It’s from Jack, with directions to the away team’s locker room entrance. _Jake is the security guard_ , the text says. _I put you and your friends on the list, so he’ll let you into the locker room if you want to see it_.

            Does he want to see an NHL locker room? Yes, yes he does, particularly if the rest of the Canadiens are still there. Freshly showered. Preferably at least half-naked.

            He’ll tell Jack later, but he thinks he’s got a thing for the goalie.

 

            The locker room is so much emptier than Bitty thought it would be. The media is gone—which is good—and most of the players have gotten on the bus. But Jack is there with a couple of teammates, and Bitty sees that he, Shitty, and Lardo are not alone in their tour—some of the other Canadiens, it seems, also have family or friends visiting as well.

            Jack looks downright skinny out of his heavy padding. He’s wearing dark gray pants and a light blue button-down shirt, his hair damp and curling away from his forehead. When he looks over, Bitty is utterly caught in his eyes. So much so he stops walking and Lardo bumps into him from behind.

            “Hi,” Jack says, and Bitty swallows hard. His knees feel weak. He thinks he may have to puke again.

            “Hey,” he tries, and his voice catches on the word, unsteady. He steels himself with a deep breath because he’s got to be cool here, _other people_ can clearly see him freaking out. “So…what’s it called when you score seven goals in a game?”

            “Very, very good,” Jack says, and Bitty laughs.

            “Jack, these are my friends Shitty and Lardo.”

            “Nice to meet you,” Jack says politely, extending his hand. When Shitty shakes Jack’s hand, he doesn’t let go

            “Bro,” Shitty says, slow and in awe, “your hands are the size of trashcan lids.”

            “It helps hold the stick better,” Jack says, and his stupid, wonderful voice is just as bland as it always is, but Shitty seems to get the humor and cracks up anyway. Bitty’s heart is so full he’s about to cry, but that would be embarrassing so he looks around the locker room instead.

            “You know,” Lardo says, and it seems like she and Bitty are on the same train of thought, “I’ve seen pornos about locker rooms? This is not what I was hoping for.”

            “There’s less music, for one,” Jack says, and Lardo snorts.

            “Also fewer dicks.”

            “There were dozens more before, I promise.”

            Bitty can tell that she and Shitty are as charmed by Jack as he is, and even better, Jack is clearly making an effort to be charming. He keeps frowning like he’s trying so hard to think of something clever to say, which is unbelievably cute. But Bitty notices within about fifteen minutes or so that Jack is having a hard time meeting his eyes; he keeps looking away when Bitty tries to catch him.

            “I’m hungry,” Shitty announces, like he hadn’t eaten two grande nachos and guzzled down three beers. “We should go get food. You eat, right, lumberjack? You eat human people food?”

            “When there aren’t any virgins,” Jack says, and Bitty nearly falls over. Lardo is grinning up at Jack.

            “I like you,” she says, looping her arm in his.

            “Oh,” Jack says. “Well, that’s nice.”

            And Bitty follows them right out of the rink.

 

            They decide to eat at a pizza place near the rink. Jack eases into a booth next to Bitty, and Bitty has to hold his hands tightly in his lap, because Jack is _big_ , Jack is so big and he’s sitting right next to Bitty…

            …and he is immediately approached by three young girls with Sharpies and Canadiens hats.

            Jack smiles at them and signs things for them, but not thirty seconds after they leave—when they’re all discussing what to order—a small group of frat boys come over and ask him if they can get a picture.

            Bitty wants to sink into the seat and disappear; the frat boys, in particular, are looking at him like he is so not cool enough to be sitting next to Jack Zimmermann. Which, he realizes suddenly, he’s not. He doesn’t think he was exactly prepared for this, and part of him wonders why the fuck Jack doesn’t have a bodyguard.

            “Sorry,” Jack tells them, when he sits back down again. “It’s a hazard eating near the rink. I’m usually ignored if we’re further away, but…” He shrugs, looking a little helpless, uncomfortable, and embarrassed. “Sorry.”

            “It’s cool,” Shitty says, stretching his arm along the booth. Lardo’s smiling too, seemingly unconcerned. “Though the next time somebody comes up, you should tell them I’m Jack Zimmermann just so see what they say.”

            Bitty snorts, shaking his head. “Yeah, they are _not_ gonna buy that.”

            “We should say _you’re_ Jack Zimmermann,” Shitty says.

            “They will buy that _even less_. I could tell them I’m Jack Zimmermann’s right leg. That’s roughly accurate.”

            Jack is about four different shades of red overall. He does that thing that he does on video chats where he ducks his head and stares down as hard as he can, smiling a little. “Stop.”

            “Shy?” Bitty says, and he can’t believe he’s flirting with Jack when he’s _right here_. In person. All warm and big next to him.

            “Overwhelmed,” he says, and looks up and away from them, clearly trying to catch his breath. Lardo hides a smile behind her hand, watching him with dark, glittering eyes. Bitty wonders what she’s thinking and isn’t sure he wants to know. He finds himself blushing as well, and is pleased when they get their order taken care of and he can guzzle a beer.

            “Don’t drink during the season?” Shitty asks, when his own beer has arrived. Jack seems to be sticking with water.

            “Don’t drink at all,” he says. “My anti-anxiety medication doesn’t mix well with alcohol.”

            “Shit,” Shitty says, and Jack laughs, waving off an incoming apology.

            “No, no, it’s okay. I forget that there are some people who don’t know all about my issues and rehab.”

            When Bitty figured out who Jack was, he watched a thirty minute _Sports Illustrated_ special on his comeback and his subsequent phenomenal seasons. Up until Jack spoke in the documentary, he wasn’t _completely positive_ this was the same guy. But as soon as he heard Jack’s soft, deep voice, everything made sense. His behavior, his strictness with his routine, his frank discussions about his anxiety. The way he seemed to be gone like clockwork at certain times of the week, usually in the evenings. Then Bitty found out how much charity work Jack does to assist kids in understanding and getting help for their own anxiety, and he thinks that might’ve been the point where he really fell in love.

            Lardo leans forward a little, hands curled around her cup of black coffee. “I remember seeing something on ESPN about that,” she says. “You really bounced back like a motherfucker, didn’t you?”

            Jack shrugs. “I had a lot of professional help. I was lucky, all things considered.”

            They talk a little more about Jack’s recovery before they start to discuss the game. Jack seems demure, not wanting to discuss his own achievements, though when Bitty points out how hot that seventh goal was, he does smile pretty big by his own standards.

            Dinner moves by quickly, and they are interrupted three more times by autograph-seekers and picture-takers. Before any of them can move, Jack pays the bill with his credit card. Bitty, Shitty, and Lardo stare at him.

            “Millionaire,” he says, and they all laugh.

            Shitty says, “I’m okay with this new friendship,” and Bitty feels very warm inside his chest.

            Then they’re getting out of the booth and putting on coats and going outside, and Bitty looks up (and up) at Jack, and Jack is looking down at him, and he realizes that his nerves are electrifying again in his body. They’re getting closer to being alone. Bitty wants to puke again.

            “Where are you staying?” Jack asks, turning the question to Shitty and Lardo as well to include them. His hands are shoved deep into his coat pockets, and he seems fidgety.

            “The Boxer,” Shitty says. “What, like five minutes from here?”

            “We could go to my hotel,” Jack says, “but only if you’re prepared to be mobbed a little more.”

            “I have a better idea,” Shitty says, and Bitty doesn’t care for the overly casual tone of his voice. “Why don’t Lardo and I go to a bar, and you two do whatever you want?”

            Jack is blushing hard in the golden lamplight. “That’s fine with me.” He looks at Bitty, and Bitty can nearly see him steeling for a check against the boards. “Is that fine with you?”

            “Well, _yeah_ ,” he says, running a hand over his hair and telling himself not to puke. “Personally, I don’t mind getting mobbed if it means I can see a rich person’s fancy hotel room, but that’s up to you. People might ask questions.”

            “I don’t think they’re going to be paying that much attention,” Jack says, and his jaw is tight. Bitty doesn’t know what it means, but he’s too shy to ask in that moment; he’ll question it when they’re alone.

            “See you later?” he says to Lardo and Shitty, and they give him a grin and a little wave.

            “Text me,” Shitty says, “if you want us to bring over your suitcase.”

            Bitty groans and puts hands to his face. “Oh my God.”

            Their laughter trails off, and Bitty finally puts his hands down, right as something touches the back of his neck. It’s Jack, and his fingers are very light on Bitty’s bared inch of skin. “They seem to mean well,” he says, and Bitty looks up (and up) at him again. He has forgotten what he wanted to say to that, because Jack’s eyes are very blue, and he has those eyes that always look sad and tired, even when he’s smiling, and Jack is _right here_.

            “I want to kiss you,” Bitty blurts out, and Jack flushes and swallows and his jaw goes all tight again.

            “Let’s—let’s get—my hotel,” he says, and Bitty had been disappointed before, when he first heard Jack’s voice, because it wasn’t nearly as French as he’d hoped, but there’s a lilt in his words now that sounds a bit unstable. A bit more accented.

            Bitty only nods. His voice isn’t working now, and he’s feeling unsure by Jack’s expression. He’s usually pretty serious and intense—Bitty was genuinely concerned about how it would feel to have Jack’s intensity turned on him in person, since sometimes just video chatting made Bitty feel like he was a prey animal caught in the sight of a very large predator. ‘He has an intensity about him,’ one NHL.com article said, ‘that makes you very aware of what he could be looking at when he’s looking at you.’

            That was not a fucking lie. Bitty has all of Jack’s attention now, and that makes him _extra nervous_.

            He follows Jack to the hotel, which is six blocks away. They don’t get stopped by any fans on the way there, but in the lobby there are a dozen people who rush to him. Bitty waits. Nobody even notices him, which is probably what Jack meant.

            They’re in the elevator within ten minutes, alone. It’s quiet. Bitty is pressed against the wall and has his arms wrapped around himself, staring at the elevator buttons and watching the lights move up and up and up to the top floor.

            “We don’t,” Jack says, then stops himself. The doors open onto a posh landing, where Jack steps out but doesn’t move. They’re still alone. “We don’t have to…do anything.”

            Bitty snorts. “Seriously?”

            “I just mean—you—I don’t—” He’s so visibly nervous that Bitty puts a hand to his arm. It’s only the second time they’ve touched one another. He almost can’t believe he’s even had that.

            “I’m okay,” he says seriously. “Let’s get into your room first, and then we can talk in private. Okay?”

            Jack nods. God, but his jaw looks amazing, like he’s been cut from stone. Even though he’s frowning, he’s still unbelievably gorgeous.

            His room is the last one down this hall, on the left. When Jack lets Bitty in, Bitty stares at him. “Why didn’t I try to become a professional athlete?”

            Jack’s face eases a little at that, and he gives him a very small smile. “Because you were destined for baking.”

            Bitty laughs and looks around the room, curious about what Jack’s hotels look like. The bed is a queen, and has a stupendously thick white comforter on it. There’s a small seating area, gigantic windows with a beautiful view of Boston, and a mini-kitchen. The bathroom door is open, and he can just see marble tile. He turns to Jack. “This is _nice_.”

            “This is usually what they put us up in,” he says, sliding out of his shoes. Bitty unbuttons his coat and drapes it over a chair. “I like your shirt,” Jack adds, and even in the softer light of the room, he’s still red.

            “Oh, thanks.” Bitty blushes, looking down at his red sneakers. He slides them off. “I got it a while back. Thought I should represent the team, you know?”

            “You mean me.”

            “I mean you.”

            They smile. Jack unbuttons his own coat and hangs it in the closet; there’s something earnest and adorable about the fact that he hangs his coat up, so Bitty brings over his own and Jack hangs it up too.

            Then Jack’s hands are around his waist and he’s dragging Bitty closer, one palm at the small of his back and the other moving to cup his cheek. Bitty stares up at him, hands caught against Jack’s ridiculous, overstuffed chest. He feels like a fucking rock. Bitty is dizzy.

            “This okay?” Jack asks, and he sounds extra Canadian and Bitty melts a little.

            “Yeah, yes. Definitely. Totally okay. You can keep going.”

            “Yeah?”

            “Yeah. God. Jack. Oh my God, you’re really here with me.” He reaches up a shaking hand and presses a fingertip to Jack’s mouth, which is plush and parted. Jack exhales against his skin and closes his eyes. He looks vulnerable then, with shaking skin, all angles soft. His hands tremble against Bitty, and when Bitty rises on his toes, Jack bends a little to meet him, and his mouth is just as warm as he is, and a little damp, and a little chapped, and Bitty doesn’t close his eyes because he is more dumbfounded than anyone has any right to be, and Jack’s hand on his jaw moves to his neck and the hand on his back moves to his hip, and Jack pulls back just enough to change the angle, pressing their mouths together again, and if this is what a simple kiss is like with Jack Zimmermann, then Bitty is not entirely sure he’s going to survive anything that comes after.

            He opens his mouth, more as a response to his own shock at finally _having this_ than anything else, and Jack’s tongue is tentative against his bottom lip, a quick slip of pressure, before he’s moving to the corner of Bitty’s mouth, the line of his jaw. Bitty twines arms around his neck, holding on. Jack’s mouth on his neck is a punch to his heart. It feels so good.

            “You’re like a dream,” Bitty says, and part of him still thinks back to the first words he ever saw from Jack, which he can now hear in Jack’s own voice— _Hi. I’m shy_. He never, never imagined that he would get this four months later. Never imagined that being curious about this silent guy who was always one of the first ones in the chat would lead him here. “I don’t know where you came from.”

            “Canada,” Jack says, still preoccupied with Bitty’s neck—oh, and now his throat. Bitty laughs, going pliant in Jack’s arms, then makes a noise when Jack picks him up.

            It’s like he weighs fucking nothing. His legs wrap around Jack’s waist on instinct, and holy shit he did not expect this at all. He’d had fantasies of Jack maybe bench pressing him a few times, but now he thinks of other things they could do with Jack’s immeasurable strength.

            “Sorry,” Jack says, a little breathless. “Just. Wanted you closer. Is this okay?”

            “It’s all okay, I promise.”

            He expects to be put down on the bed—and really, he would like to be horizontal—but Jack just holds onto him at the small of his back and kisses him slowly and deeply, over and over again, until Bitty finds himself too warm. “Hang on to me,” he says, and he leans back to unzip his hoodie. He shivers a little when Jack’s hands grip his ass instead. Then he laughs when they squeeze, twice.

            “Sorry,” Jack says again, and fuck but Bitty loves the way he says it, all Canadian and soft. Bitty bumps their foreheads together, fingers curling in the soft hair at the nape of Jack’s neck. It’s then that he realize that Jack’s expression from before is because he wanted this so much and couldn’t have it in the moment.

            “No sorry,” he says, letting himself be devoured by the dark look in Jack’s eyes. “I am very much okay with that.”

            “I’ve been worrying a little,” Jack says, ducking his head so Bitty can scratch gently just behind his ear. “About having sex.”

            “Oh,” Bitty says, flushing more. “Worrying, why?”

            “Because it was so awful for you your first time.”

            “Jesus, please don’t bring that up.”

            “I’m serious.” Jack walks with him to the windowsill, setting him down and pressing between his spread knees. The glass is cold on Bitty’s back, and he wonders if anyone can see them. He sort of hopes they can. “What if it’s awful with me, too? I’m really out of practice.”

            Now he has to roll his eyes. “You’re kidding me, right? Jack. We’ve been having sex for months. Just because it hasn’t been us _physically_ having sex doesn’t mean anything. I think we’re going to be great, personally. Lord. Look at you. All worried for no reason.” His fingers trace the lines of Jack’s face, and all he wants is to look at him for as long as he can, take him all in. Bitty doesn’t think he’s being naïve about this; Jack’s far from perfect, and he gets so intense about hockey that he’s snapped at Bitty a few times over it, and sometimes Jack doesn’t pay enough attention when Bitty wants him to, but it’s almost like Jack’s learning how to be with another human. Bitty can forgive him for it.

            And being in love certainly helps him see all the good parts. Like now, with Jack watching him quietly, as if he too is content simply to look.

            “I like your eyes,” Jack says. “I always have, but. Up close, I like them better. And the freckles.”

            “You’re such a sap,” Bitty says, but he doesn’t tell him to stop. Instead, he pulls Jack closer, takes his mouth because he can. “What do you want to do tonight?”

            “Honestly?”

            “Of course. Always.”

            “I want to relax with you, maybe watch a movie, and sleep.” He’s pink and looks genuinely embarrassed. “I’m…I stressed myself out a lot today, and I’m thinking I want nothing more than to—to hold you and fall asleep with you.”

            Bitty can’t help but to feel dopey and warm. “So I guess I should let Shitty know I need my suitcase, right?”

            “I have an extra toothbrush,” Jack offers. “And you don’t…really need clothes?”

            “Saucy.”

            “Stop.” He tucks his face against Bitty’s neck, and Bitty can feel him smiling. “That’s not fair.”

            “What?”

            “Your voice when you tease. It gets all low. It’s really not fair.”

            He deliberately lowers his voice. “Oh, you mean like this?”

            It’s his fault, he knows, but he still screams when Jack tickles him.

 

            After confirming that it really is okay for him to stay the night because nobody bothers Jack once games are over, Bitty makes himself more comfortable on the bed. Shitty and Lardo say they’ll text in the morning so they can all meet up for breakfast, and Jack insists he will not miss a morning workout just because Bitty is here. Well, he calls him _Eric_ in this awkward little voice, and Bitty feels like his spine is a melting mess each time he hears it.

            “I could get used to this,” Bitty says, tucked under Jack’s arm and resting against his chest while Jack tries to find a movie to watch.

            “Lying here with me?”  
            “No, this sweet hotel room.”

            He thinks he’s going to get tickled again and seizes up against it, but instead Jack simply kisses the top of his head and holds him closer.

            Jack’s woeful ignorance of literally any pop culture past the year 2000 is on full display when he does not recognize at all who Reese Witherspoon is in _Legally Blonde_. “I think I saw her in that vampire movie with Brad Pitt,” Jack says slowly.

            “That was Kirsten Dunst!”

            “Oh. And that’s not who this is, right?”

            “Oh my God.”

            After that, it’s a flirty little game they play, Bitty pretending to be completely outraged when Jack doesn’t know something, and Jack saying the most ridiculous things just to get Bitty to laugh. When they flip to MTV and Kylie Jenner is on the screen, Jack says, “Is that a young Angelina Jolie?” and Bitty damn near loses it.

            Shortly after midnight, Jack starts to droop more against Bitty, though he’s trying to be present in the conversation. Bitty strokes at his hair, kissing his temple, all along his jaw, keeping his mouth soft and light. “You should sleep, honey,” he murmurs, and he finds himself to be tired as well, though he’s normally up much later than this.

            “Wanna spend time with you,” Jack says, blinking hard as if to wake himself up.

            “You will, I promise. Let’s sleep, okay? I can be big spoon.”  
            Jack smiles at that, his eyes all soft and sad and lovely. “I love you,” he says, then goes very still.

Bitty looks up at him, fingers caught up in Jack’s shirt. “What?”

            Jack bites at his lip. For a moment, Bitty thinks he’s going to deny what he just said, then, even softer than before, he says, “I love you.” Adds, “You don’t have to say it back. I just wanted to say it.”

“How do you know?” Bitty has to ask, because he wants to say the words, too, but he’s never felt strongly enough to mean them and he’s not sure how he’s supposed to know that yes, this giant ball of heat inside him is supposed to be love.

            Jack, blessedly, gives that real thought. “I thought about that,” he says slowly. “For me, I think it’s a lot of factors. I thought I was in love when I was nineteen, so I sort of…compared that to how I feel now. I know I love hockey. I know I love my parents. So I just…compared you to those things to see where you measured up.” He shrugs. “You measure up.”

            Bitty shifts and slides his leg over Jack’s hips, settling comfortably on him with hands pressed low on his stomach. Jack’s hands catch at his waist as if holding him steady. “You amaze me a little,” he says seriously. “Just with the way you are.”

            “Well,” Jack says, “I love you.”

            Bitty closes his eyes and takes a long, slow breath. “I’m not going to get tired of hearing that.”

            “I love you.”

            Smiling, Bitty bends down to kiss him. Jack’s hand curls at the back of his neck and holds him steady. It’s a good kiss, all warm and soft and sliding deep. Though his body says it’s ready for more, Bitty breaks the kiss and slides fingers through Jack’s hair, watching his closed eyes and little smile.

            “Let’s get ready for bed,” he says, and Jack nods before yawning, and Bitty realizes he has never fallen asleep with someone before and is so, so glad that his first will be Jack.

 

            When he wakes up in the morning, he’s alone. The bed is cold, and it takes him a long, disorienting moment to realize where he is. Jack’s hotel room. With no Jack.

            Bitty reaches for his phone and is relieved to see he’s gotten several texts.

 _Good morning_ , says the first one, at 6:02. _I’m downstairs in the hotel gym. I’ll be back by seven._

            Then, shortly after seven, _One of the guys asked me to go for a run, so I said yes. I’ll be back by eight_.

            Then, directly after that one, _You’re even cuter when you’re sleeping_.

            He smiles and sees that it’s five to eight. As he’s setting his phone down, there’s sound at the hotel door, and part of him freezes and tries to push under the blankets, because it could be a cleaning lady for all he knows, and she probably would be embarrassed to find a half-naked boy in a hockey player’s hotel room. Do the staff even know who they are? Probably.

            But no, it’s Jack, coming in as quietly as he can. Bitty feigns sleep but keeps his eyes slightly open, watching Jack with awe and amusement as he literally tiptoes further into the room, then straightens when he sees Bitty watching him.

            “I thought you were still asleep,” he says, almost accusing.

            “I was until like five minutes ago.” He stretches and doesn’t miss the way Jack looks at him, his eyes as intense as when he’s on the ice. “You’re nice and sweaty.”

            “I had a good workout.” He strips out of his sleeveless Nike shirt and Bitty’s mouth goes dry. He’s seen Jack completely naked before, but up close and personal is a wholly different experience. Jack is talking to him, but Bitty isn’t listening.

            “What was that?” Bitty prompts, sitting up further in bed and trying to get his dick under control.

            “I said,” Jack says slowly, as if he can sense what Bitty’s thinking about, “you can shower with me if you want.”

            Bitty ducks his head under the covers, his heart beating rapidly again. “Really?”

            “Yeah,” Jack says, and he sounds amused. “Come on.”

            The shower is running before Bitty can make his legs work. He shuffles toward the bathroom, not bothering to conceal his erection, because Jack has one too and Jack is already standing under a stream of steaming water and Bitty is frozen. He shakes his head to clear the fog and pulls his shirt off, tossing it aside, then strips out of his underwear before he can chicken out. He opens the sliding glass door and steps in.

            Jack looks down at him. He’s smiling, and his smile has always been a little strange, like each time is the first time he’s ever smiled and he’s not quite getting the angle right. “What’s your routine?” Jack asks, and Bitty looks away for a moment, because Jack is hard, too, and Lord heaven almighty does he have a pretty dick.

            “My…routine?”

            “Yeah. Like. Do you shampoo first, then wash your face, or…”

            Bitty stares up at him, momentarily forgetting that they are both naked. “Seriously? Do you have an actual routine?”

            “Well…yeah. I mean, I.” Jack is flushed, and it’s not from the heat of the water. “Like, I wash my hair, then I rinse, then I soap up, then I rinse, then I wash my face.”

            “You don’t use conditioner?”

            “Do I…need conditioner?”

            “Jesus Christ.”

            The playful back-and-forth helps Bitty calm down a little, but his nerves ratchet up again as soon as Jack reaches out and—dear God—puts those huge hands of his on Bitty’s shoulders and gently directs him under the spray. It feels good on his back. His stress from the last twenty-four hours has manifested into deep knots in his muscles.

            Jack clearly knows, because he steps closer and his hands shift and they knead at those tight muscles until Bitty groans and leans against him, catching his breath when Jack’s cock presses hard against his belly. Jesus. Christ. Almighty. God. In heaven.

            “If this isn’t okay, we can stop,” Jack says, and Bitty shakes his head.

            “No. This is very okay, and I will kill you if you stop.”

            “We can really just shower.”

            “That is not what your dick is telling me.”

            Jack makes this _noise_ in his throat, and it’s halfway his _I am so embarrassed right now_ noise and halfway that noise he made that _one time_ that had Bitty riled up for days. “I don’t want to disturb your routine,” Bitty says, and he’s staring right at Jack’s chest so he doesn’t have to get distracted by his voice, “but I could get you off. If you wanted me to.”

            Jack’s chest is moving very quickly as he breathes. Bitty thinks his heart is probably racing. Is this what hockey does to him? “I—if you—that would be fine.”

            “Just fine?”

            “Um.” Jack shifts, one hand sliding to the back of Bitty’s neck. His fingers are shaking. “I—I’m awkward, please don’t make me talk.”

            Telling himself he can be just as bold in person as he was over their video chats, Bitty trails fingers down Jack’s stomach, feeling the muscles tense and jump. “I could blow you.”

            Jack bites his lip.

            “Or I could use my hand.”

            Jack’s eyes close.

            “Or,” Bitty says, fingers following the taut skin of his straining cock, “I could let you pin me to the wall and you can—”

            There’s a string of hoarse French. Bitty’s surprised by it, because Jack has always had a measure of a handle on himself, and he did say, more than once, that it’s difficult to make him legitimately forget his English. Bitty’s hardly _done anything_ and Jack’s gibbering.

            Experimentally, he leans his back against the cold tile, looking up at Jack, whose eyes are open now because he moved away. Bitty slips easily to his knees. “What I was saying,” he says, and is briefly insanely pleased by the look of unconscious need on Jack’s face, “is that you could’ve pinned me and I might’ve let you fuck me, but why don’t you just come over here and let me suck your cock?”

            Jack sort of stumbles toward him, and for half a second Bitty’s worried that he’s going to trip and fall and then Bitty will have to explain to the Montréal coach that Jack Zimmermann got a concussion while getting a blowjob in a shower, but instead Jack steadies himself by putting his hand on the back of Bitty’s head, and oh fucking shit—

            Jack’s cock is bigger this close, and Bitty has never _actually_ blown an _actual dick_ —he’s only played around with some of his dildos for his videos. He finds himself a little frozen, one hand curled tightly together and resting on his thigh, the other one reaching out to Jack’s wet hip to hold on.

            “You don’t have to,” Jack says, and he sounds _really French_ all of a sudden, like he’s struggling to use English and this is the only compromise he can find.

            Bitty does not want to have Jack Zimmermann in such a state of uninhibited hunger and leave him hanging, so before he can change his mind or fret about how good he probably will not be, he grips Jack’s cock with one hand, opens his mouth, and slides over him.

            It’s kind of easy. At least, it’s a lot easier than he thought it would be. But he realizes he has to watch out for his teeth, something he doesn’t worry about with dildos, and having an actual dick in his mouth lends all sort of unexpected sensations—like the way Jack’s muscles quiver and the grip of his hand on the back of Bitty’s head and the soft, warm, wet skin as he slides down further, his nose buried in those dark curls at the base.

            Jack is silent. Bitty didn’t expect much from him, but the silence makes him uncertain. What if he’s doing something wrong? Or Jack doesn’t like something but doesn’t want to say anything? Or what if now that Bitty is here, offering himself, Jack has decided he’s not into it? Maybe it’s weird in person. Too weird. So weird that Jack is regretting everything, maybe he wishes he would’ve never signed up for Bitty’s site in the first place. He might be thinking about ways to get out of this, make an excuse and then run out of the room or something.

            Jack’s thumb touches the corner of his mouth, slides in, stretching Bitty’s lips which are already still full of cock. He says _something_ , a slur of words that are absolutely not English, and when Bitty manages to look up at him, Jack’s hips jerk forward a little and he almost chokes.

            Then Jack pulls away and Bitty takes a breath. “What did you say?” he asks, stroking his hand along Jack’s cock, pulling the foreskin down so he can put his tongue just underneath the sensitive head. Jack shakes all over, and frowns like he’s trying to comprehend what Bitty just said.

            “I wasn’t—” Jack says, then bites his lip. “Oh, that was—I guess that wasn’t English. I, oh.” He presses his thumb to Bitty’s lip again, and Bitty, on instinct, nips with his teeth. Jack exhales. “I didn’t realize what I was saying. I said—I think I said you have a pretty mouth, because you do.”

            Invigorated by the admission, Bitty goes down on him again, with fervor, swirling his tongue around the head on the upstroke and letting Jack settle deep in his throat on the down. Jack’s body tells him what he needs to hear, and he knows he’s doing okay when Jack leans his forehead against the tile, one hand braced over his head, and fucks his hips forward, pushing deeper into Bitty’s throat. Bitty lets Jack crowd him against the tile until he is utterly consumed by him, pinned and pressed and with a hand fisting in his hair, Jack’s hips moving recklessly now, Bitty focusing on inhaling when Jack pulls back enough and holding his breath to keep him in tight.

            Jack pulls away completely after only a minute, and Bitty looks up at him with dark eyes and an aching jaw. Jack’s chest is heaving with effort, and his dick feels so swollen in Bitty’s hand that it’s got to hurt. Bitty nuzzles at him, unable to help it. “You gonna come?” he says, and Jack nods, still silent, and Bitty swallows him down one last time.

            Then, Jack’s body gives a jerk and Bitty can feel the pressure building before it breaks, and Bitty has never—he hadn’t exactly thought about what it would be like, but he should’ve thought this through a little better after having seen Jack come on camera exactly three times. Jack’s come fills his mouth, and force of it is a shock. Bitty’s heart beats so hard in his chest he’s feeling dizzy, but that could be the lack of air, or the hot water, or any number of factors—including Jack himself.

            Jack pulls away and Bitty hears a faint humming in his ears, only able to swallow half, catching the other half with his fingers before it drips out of his slack mouth. The noises that Jack makes then are indecent.

            Bitty looks up at him, breathing hard, and Jack’s mouth is red from where he’s been biting it and his eyes are so hazy he looks drunk. He babbles and it is not in English, and Bitty licks his lips clean. Then his fingers.

            Jack collapses to his knees, crowding Bitty again, but now they’re more of a height and Bitty lets Jack clutch him with possessive hands and drag him close for a kiss. Jack’s hand moves to Bitty’s own straining cock, and his fingers are a little clumsy as they try to find a good fit while keeping Bitty as close as possible. It’s over embarrassingly quick, Bitty wrapping arms around Jack’s neck and sliding as close as he can until he’s all but splayed on Jack’s lap, and then he’s coming so hard he can’t help the guttural shout that rings against the tile. He slumps against Jack and makes little noises in his throat as he tries so hard to squeeze closer. He’s not close enough. There’s not enough skin.

            “I’ve got you,” Jack says, and Bitty realizes he’s whimpering like he’s been injured. Maybe he has. Maybe his dick has given up after one last hurrah.

            When he has enough conscious thought to look at Jack, Jack is giving him this glorious little smile, full of wonder. “I love you,” Jack says, and it’s so emphatic and sincere that Bitty ducks his face against Jack’s shoulder and attempts to remember how to breathe. He wants to say it, he does, but he’s content just to hear it. Because Jack means it, he really means it, and Bitty is terrified that there’s a chance he himself might not. That he would say it now and take it back later. He doesn’t ever want to take that back.

            “We should get cleaned up,” Bitty murmurs, though all he wants to do is crawl into bed for another few hours.

            “I can do that,” Jack says, and he stretches up to pluck his shampoo off a shelf, something Bitty would’ve definitely had to get up for, and he shifts them both around until Bitty is under the hot spray of water, and Jack carefully washes his hair in such a way that Bitty drowses quietly against him. Jack is very thorough in his care. It’s endearing as hell.

            “I can’t believe that wore you out,” Jack says to him. “I’ve seen you do that for like an entire hour.”

            “Different,” Bitty says, letting Jack tip his head back to rinse his hair.

            “Sorry I don’t have conditioner.”

            “I’ll forgive you if you promise never to buy Suave again.”

            Jack laughs. “Deal.”

            They’re squeaky clean by the time they exit the shower, and Jack towels Bitty down before wrapping him in a fluffy blue robe. Bitty looks up at him with what he hopes is an adoring expression, because that is absolutely how he feels. “I could get spoiled by this.”

            “Good. We’ve only got a couple of days, so I kind of want to max out the spoiling.”

            Bitty actually completely forgot that he only has another day with Jack after this. “Hey,” Jack says, reaching out to him. “Don’t make that face. It’s not forever. I figured we could look at our schedules together and come up with something.”

            Bitty exhales slowly. “Well, I’m staying at Samwell over the summer; one of Shitty’s and Lardo’s roommates might be moving out, so I could have a spot at their house. Otherwise I think I’ll just go ahead and get an apartment for senior year.”

            “Part of me wishes I’d done the college thing,” Jack says, and he’s standing naked at the window, which is…kind of perfect, actually. “But the Habs gave me such an impressive offer I felt like I couldn’t turn it down. I figured if I sucked in the NHL, then maybe I’d look into college.”

            “But you didn’t suck,” Bitty says with a smile, moving to stand next to him.

            “I didn’t suck, no.”  He pauses. “But maybe I can take classes in the off-season. I’ve always been interested in history, and you can…do those things online now, can’t you?”

            “For someone who is so good with using Skype video,” Bitty says, “you are really awful with technology.”

            Jack only smiles and pulls him closer.

 

            It’s Shitty who suggests it, and Bitty realizes that his decision to withhold the fact that he was a figure skater for eight years was a good one. Part of him feels bad for playing such a prank on Jack, but another part of him just wants to see Jack amazed at the way Bitty can move on the ice.

            So they all go ice skating, and Bitty pretends like he’s nervous, gripping the sides of the rink as Jack moves with a grace that is extra impressive without all his padding. He seems more comfortable in his skates than sneakers. And he looks extra attractive when he’s comfortable.

            “Come on out,” Jack says. “It’s fine. Really.”

            Bitty wants to tell him to stop flirting in public, that they’re going to get caught, but Jack looks too relaxed and happy for Bitty to take that away from him. Instead he just shakes his head and grips the side of the rink, letting his knees tremble. “No! I’ll fall!”

            “Asshole,” Lardo tells him as she wobbles by him. She is not faking it the way Bitty is, and Shitty skates backwards with her hands in his, directing her. There are maybe ten other people on the ice, mostly kids who are playing hooky with their parents’ permission, and no one seems to recognize Jack. Maybe he looks different in the daytime. Or maybe it’s because he’s smiling so much.

            Jack eases over to him and tries to pry his hands off the wall. “Come on. Don’t be a baby.”

            Bitty sighs dramatically and says, “Fine,” before pushing off from the wall and sliding gracefully along the ice, skating backward so he can see the look of pure shock on Jack’s face.

            “Did I mention I did figure skating for eight years?” Bitty says, winking. Shitty’s losing it at Jack’s expression, and Bitty yelps when Jack starts racing toward him. “Don’t you dare!” he hollers, picking up speed and hurtling around the rink. Bitty uses every smidgen of effort he’s got inside him, and it turns out he is actually faster than Jack Zimmermann. When Jack realizes this, he slows down and starts laughing so hard he doubles over.

            Bitty preens. “Turns out you suck at something,” he says, sing-song, and when Jack looks up at him again, Bitty graces him with a double axel. He’s out of practice and lands a little roughly, but he’s still got it. Jack’s face is a dead giveaway on what’s going on inside his heart, so Bitty slides over to him and says, “Might not want to look at me with so much love in your eyes. Someone’s bound to notice.”

            “I’m having a hard time caring about that,” Jack admits, and Bitty skates circles around him until Jack chases him again.

            Lardo taps out not long after they’re on the ice, so she and Shitty decide to go get coffee. Bitty and Jack stay on the ice until Jack is finally recognized; after that, once all the little kids are satisfied with their autographs—and with Bitty’s awkward Salchow—they return their skates and walk to the coffee shop to meet with their friends. Jack is flushed and a little sweaty, and Bitty doesn’t think he’s ever seen him look so comfortable. It’s such a good look on him that he finds himself staring a little, and Jack has to lean into him and say, “Might not want to look at me with so much love in your eyes,” and Bitty flushes hard and gazes with love at his pumpkin spice latte instead.

            After that, they walk around their area of Boston a little until it gets too cold, and then they go up to Jack’s hotel room, which has been straightened up, and nothing looks out of the ordinary. Shitty and Lardo try to pry the window open to see what happens if they throw a penny from the top floor, but the window won’t open and they get bored. So they leave.

            Then Jack turns to Bitty and all but throws him onto the bed, and for the next half hour Bitty’s mouth gets chapped from making out, and he never would’ve thought this could happen.

            At around three, Jack takes a nap. Bitty’s surprised that his daily routine includes naps, but he figures it must, with how early he gets up and how late his games go. While Jack sleeps, Bitty uses Jack’s laptop to log into the admin portion of his site, and chews on his lips as he looks over his subscribers. Jack still subscribes, though he hasn’t been in the Saturday live stream in months. He doesn’t need to.

            Bitty knows Jack means it when he says the site doesn’t bother him, but the fact of the matter is that now, having this, having a _boyfriend_ he can actually _physically be with_ , makes him feel uncomfortable about his site and all the strangers asking him to do things to himself. It feels…like cheating, even though that’s not how Jack sees it at all.

            He’s pretty sure his bank account is set for his last year at Samwell, for all his books, his housing, his food, his expensive baking (good chocolate is _not cheap_ ), and pretty much everything he would need. Sure, he’d like to get a summer job as a cushion, but he doesn’t really need it. Bitty is set. So why is he still doing the site?

            Jack’s naps last exactly seventy-five minutes, so in that time Bitty does some calculations, overestimating a few things—like another Boston trip in April for Jack’s last game of the season, a passport, a plane ticket to Montréal—and when he realizes that he has no need for the site anymore, and even more than that, no desire for it…

            …he edits and posts his very last video, spends half an hour thinking of a goodbye note, posts that, and advises that the site will be removed by the end of May. He figures that should be long enough for most people—he does, in fact, actually have fans.

            Jack’s alarm goes off and he wakes up instantly, no groggy yawning and rubbing of his eyes. Bitty is a little disappointed. He doesn’t think he’ll ever watch Jack waking up still soft with sleep, but at least he can watch him fall asleep. “What are you up to?” Jack asks, and he at least stretches so Bitty can tell yes, he had been sleeping this whole time.

            “Just fiddling with some things,” Bitty says, closing Jack’s laptop. “Hope you don’t mind me using your computer. I didn’t want to wake you up to ask.”

            Jack smiles. “Of course I don’t mind.” He reclines against the pillows and watches Bitty with a very particular look. “Are you tired?”

            Interest piqued, Bitty shakes his head. “No.”

            “Are you hungry?”

            “No.”

            “Do we have any plans to go out?”

            “Not now.” Bitty licks his lips. “What are you suggesting?”

            Jack clears his throat, and a faint blush colors his cheeks. “Something I’ve been thinking about. You can say no.”

            “I know I can. But I usually don’t.” Bitty slides onto the bed but doesn’t touch Jack. He only watches him.

            Jack scratches at the back of his head. “I want to fuck you.”

            Even though Jack has said those words plenty of times, usually when he’s trying to get Bitty to come, Bitty has never been so aware of the implication before. He’s done _that_ , at least, and even though it was an absolutely awful experience (he literally had a dick in his ass for five seconds before the guy came), he knows it won’t be terrible with Jack, that Jack will make sure he enjoys himself, but if his orgasm from the shower is any indication, he’s pretty sure it’s going to be overwhelming  because that’s just the way things seem to be with them.

            “I’d let you,” Bitty says, sliding out of his sweater and dropping it to the floor. Jack tenses up, like he wants to reach out but won’t let himself. He watches every movement Bitty makes, and that makes Bitty feel bolder than he’s ever been, and he thinks he’s pretty bold considering his sincere lack of sexual experience. “But you have to tell me what you want me to do.”

            Jack swallows, looking vaguely unsure for the first time. “I can try.”

            “Try real, real hard,” Bitty says. “But first thing’s first—please tell me you have condoms.”

            Jack nods. “And lube. In my suitcase.”

            Bitty slides off the bed to get them, taking a moment to let his blush disappear. Lord. Here it is. The thing he’s fantasized about for literally months. Finally here. In that bed, and in the form of this huge Canadian hockey god.

            Returning with the condoms and the lube, Bitty stands near the bed and looks at the picture Jack presents him, all long hard angles, his cock trapped beneath his sweatpants. He’s utterly still, waiting, it seems, for something. Finally, Jack says, “Are you sure you’re okay with this? You know you can tell me no, right?”

            “I want this,” Bitty says, serious. “I want you to fuck me. I am okay with that. I’m just nervous.”

            “Have you ever, since—you know.”

            The Worst Sex Ever. “No. But I use toys a lot, so it’s not like I’m not prepared.”

            Jack chews on his lip, a blush coloring his cheeks. “I could try to relax you a little.”

            Ah, bless Jack and his thoughtfulness. “And how would you do that?”

            “We’ve talked about it before,” Jack says, sitting up on the bed and pulling his shirt off. Part of Bitty goes blank. “Me, spreading you out.” The way he says _out_ brings Bitty back to the present, and he can’t help but smile. “Using my tongue to work you open.”

            Oh, right. They _have_ talked about that. When Jack had to turn off his video but compensated by using his soft, deep voice to tell Bitty how bad he wants to eat him out. At the time, the thought of it had driven him right over the edge. Now, it heightens every point in his body, and he slides his palm over his half-hard cock in his jeans. “I’d be okay with that,” he says, and his voice is growing husky.

            It doesn’t take long for them to get themselves situated (and naked) on the bed, and before Bitty knows it, he’s gripping the sheets with white-knuckled fingers and sucking in a breath through his teeth as Jack’s big hands spread his ass and his tongue slides against Bitty’s sensitive skin. Not only has no one ever done this for him before, nobody’s ever, in his memory, paid so much _attention_ to him before. Jack is fucking _thorough_. Bitty knows he needs to stop being surprised by it, but he can’t help it—the way Jack responds to Bitty’s own movements and noises, the way he listens when Bitty tells him _yes, there, again, just like that_ , means Bitty literally gets everything he wants when he wants it, and his romantic heart knows that Jack would do this for everything for him—that if Bitty admitted all he wants in the world is to open up his own bakery, then Jack would help him do it, without question. Jack would give him _everything_.

            Later, when they make love—because that’s exactly what it is, Bitty on Jack’s lap with Jack’s hands on his back, looking into Jack’s eyes and watching them flutter as he tries to breathe—Bitty wants to say it back. But something catches the words in his throat, the worry that he is _not_ as sure as Jack is. He wants to _really mean them_.

            Jack presses their foreheads together. He kisses Bitty all over, slow and hot, and his hips are moving gentle and shallow. He’s so deep inside Bitty that Bitty can almost forget what it’s like to inhabit his body alone. Jack’s hands move all over him, pressing, kneading, stroking. He tips Bitty’s chin to the side and kisses at the side of his neck. Murmurs lovely little French words into Bitty’s skin. Bitty knows just enough French from the movies to know that Jack is confessing his love, again.

            When either of them get too close, they slow down. Settle in for a long ride, where they talk and touch and taste one another gently. Where Jack traces Bitty’s face with tender fingertips, and laughs when Bitty makes him laugh.

            Finally, they let themselves come. Jack is silent as usual, but Bitty is noisy just for him, because he knows how much Jack likes it. They settle down, breathe a little, and make each other come again.

            Their trip is halfway over, and after they shower together again, Bitty lets himself subside into melancholy as Jack researches for a good restaurant for dinner.

            “When can I see you again?” he finds himself asking, settled on the armchair in the same blue bathrobe from before. Jack has toweled off and in his underwear, and heaven almighty, but that’s a good look on him.

            “I was thinking about that,” Jack says slowly, which is the way he usually talks when he’s currently thinking as well. “Our last game of the season is in Boston, in April. It’s a Saturday, but we’ll be coming in the Friday. It would take a really dire situation for us not to go to the playoffs, so anticipating that, you might be able to come to one of those.” He flushes suddenly. “I would really like it if you could make a playoff game in Montréal, but I understand you have school.”

            Bitty smiles at him, thinking, _God, this boy_. “I don’t know if I could swing a trip to Canada for playoffs. I don’t even have a passport.”

            Jack has never looked so surprised, not even when he saw Bitty’s proficiency on the ice. “What? You don’t have a _passport_?”

            “Oh my God, it’s not the end of the world!”

            “But—you did—didn’t you do any figure skating out of country?”

            “Jack. No.” He snorts. “I’ll get one, I promise.”

            They discuss playoffs, and what that would mean for Jack. Bitty lets him know what his semester will be like toward the end, and Jack writes down all of Bitty’s finals in his phone, and Bitty kisses him quite a lot after that.

            While they’re waiting for Lardo and Shitty to text them and say they’re ready for dinner, Bitty curls up on the bed with Jack in his arms, lazily watching a history special on TV. Jack looks up at him after several quiet moments together. “I want you to visit me in Montréal,” he says. “At least, at some point.”

            “I’d like that. Of course I would.” After a moment, Bitty curls fingers in Jack’s hair, soothed by Jack’s little murmur of pleasure, and says what’s been on his mind a little ever since he showed up in Boston. “There aren’t any…out NHL players, are there?”

            “No. I hear that baseball and basketball have some players that are out, but not NHL.” Bitty says nothing else, but Jack adds, “I wouldn’t mind if it was me. Being the first.”

            “Really?” He doesn’t know why his heart is doing what it is, but suddenly he’s thinking about what it would be like to not hide. “That’s not—I mean, that can be dangerous, can’t it? Career-wise, for personal safety…as happy as I am that we’re progressing as a country—meaning the U.S.—I don’t know if—”

            “Listen,” Jack says, and now he picks his head up to look at Bitty with his blue eyes. “I’m not worried about what people think of me. Not anymore. And if this is something that we decide on, together, then I am perfectly okay coming out.” He seems to have an extra dose of his usual intensity. “I don’t know about you, but I’m in this for the long haul. Years down the line, if this is what we decide, then I’m on board.”

            “Years down the line?”

            Jack shrugs. “I don’t do things halfway. So if you want me, I’m here.”

            Bitty simply looks at him. “Forever?”

            “If that’s what you want, yes.”

            “And if that’s not what I want?”

            Jack only smiles. “Whatever you want, for however long you want it.”

            Bitty looks away, realizing something for the first time. “I could break your heart.”

            “Absolutely. Yes.”

            “But you wouldn’t break mine.”

            “Not intentionally. But I could, if you gave me that power.”

            “Jack. You already have that power.” Bitty makes a noise when Jack leans in and takes his mouth, a soft promise of a thing. He melts. Of course he does. What else can he do? “You’re going to make me miss you very, very much.”

            Jack nuzzles at him, and Bitty can feel him smiling. “Just means I’ll have a lot to make up for later.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I Googled figure skating stuff, and a friend of mine did figure skating for about ten years or so. She can, to this day, do simple jumps and things, but she's lost a lot of her muscle memory and can't launch herself into the air the way she used to, so I figured Bitty might be similar. 
> 
> I literally know nothing about Boston except that I am Not a Red Sox Fan. I am so sorry.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tagged for this chapter: Very, very light dom/sub overtones.
> 
> I lied a little. I said there would be 5 parts plus an epilogue, but part 5 and the epilogue are a little short (and I FELT SO GUILTY ABOUT IT BEING SO SHORT), so before the epilogue I will do a sort of addendum post that's just for fun. Thus, this is part 3 of 7 (for now...I may add more later...but the main story is absolutely finished, no worries!)

            Leaving Eric is one of the hardest things Jack has ever done. The logical part of him knows that, obviously, as soon as he lands in Montréal, he will have several texts waiting, and he’ll probably FaceTime with him and they’ll fall asleep to each other’s voices, but in this moment, on Saturday, after two rounds of morning sex and afternoon sex, after Eric’s mouth hot all over him and making Eric laugh and tickling him—he’s _so ticklish_ , and he invites it every time because he can’t resist being a shit—and after another half hour at the rink where Jack manages to do a very unimpressive waltz jump, plus an early dinner...the illogical part of his brain, the part that is flooded with warmth and love, is making his chest tight with how much he does _not_ want to leave.

            Alone for the last time until Jack is back in Boston, Eric is standing between his knees while Jack sits on the bed, having paid for an extra night at the hotel that he won’t even use, and Eric’s hands are soft when they curl in the hair at the nape of his neck. “It won’t be long at all, honey, I promise you that.”

            “I know.”

            “We talk every day anyway.”

            “Right, exactly. It’s just three weeks.”

            “Right. And then after you win the Cup, we have most of the summer, don’t we?”

            Summer. Summertime spent with Eric Bittle, when he’s not hosting events. “Yes, right. I need to focus on that.”

            Eric kisses at his temple, down his jaw. His voice is beyond tender. “Yes, you do. Don’t let this distract you, sweetheart. Just focus on right now. I promise you you’ll have plenty of time with me, okay?”

            “Yeah?” He just needs to hear it—that Eric is at least willing to wait for him.

            “Of course! Jack Zimmermann, I haven’t even baked you anything yet. I’ve got _so much_ to bake you.”

            He smiles up at Eric, whose eyes are so dark and sincere. “What will you bake me first?”

            “Whatever you want. Anything.”

            Jack slides his hands around Eric’s hips and pulls him in as close as he can. Eric is so pliant and flexible, curving into Jack’s body with his own. “I love you,” Jack tells him, clutching him tight. This is so hard. He can feel tears prickling at his eyes, and his breathing comes harder and faster. This is _so hard_.

            “Listen,” Eric says, “nothing’s really going to change. We have a routine, remember? I’m part of your routine now. Just three weeks, darlin’. That’s it. And then you can touch me again.”

            “Three weeks. Just three weeks.”

            “Yep. Super easy.”

            Jack pulls back and is a little startled to see tears streaming down Eric’s face, but Eric is still smiling, still trying to be strong for him. “Eric…”

            “No, please don’t. I’m okay, I really am. It’s just three weeks.” He takes a deep, shaky breath. “It’s just three weeks.”

            “Three weeks,” Jack repeats, and he brushes his thumbs across the tears, taking a deep breath himself. “I have a lot of work to do in three weeks.”

            “Right. And I do too, with school, so it’s not like either of us is gonna be sittin’ around just pining away.” He takes another breath, and this one isn’t as shaky. “Three weeks is quick as hell.”

            Jack’s head clears enough for him to see past this one moment here. He strokes his hands over Eric’s back, kissing him a few dozen times. “I love you,” he says again, and he never tires of hearing those words in his own voice, or the way they make Eric smile. “We can do this. It’s just because it’s the first time, but…we can do this.”

            “Yes. And I just want it to be clear that I _want_ to do this, okay? I’m okay with you having a job where I can’t see you all the time. I think we’re making it work just fine, right?”

            Jack doesn’t say that he’s been thinking of buying a house in Boston, but he intends to later, after the season, maybe, when Eric can help him look. “I’d say we are. I’m…really glad. Really, really glad.”

            They kiss a little more after that, until the cab arrives that will take him, Price, and Gallagher to the airport. Once downstairs, Shitty, Lardo, and Eric wave him off, and Jack gets into the cab with his teammates, who all seem surprised that Jack stayed in Boston visiting friends when Jack never does anything of the sort.

            “They’re good friends,” Jack tells them, and smiles when he gets a text from Bitty—a string of hearts, blushy smiley faces, more hearts, kissy faces, and heart-eyed smileys that go on for two scrolls on his phone.

 

            Jack eases back into his routine with little effort on his part. It’s a routine for a reason; when he’s feeling stressed, anxious, or depressed, his routine can get him through. He texts Eric good morning, every morning, and talks to him in the evening after his day is done. He’s surprised that they find their equilibrium so easily, and that Eric, while admitting that he misses Jack _so much, Jack, you don’t even understand_ , has not been despondent the way Jack worried that he would be, which is a comfort.

            For his part, Jack was sure he’d be talking to his therapist, Rashanna, a lot more, but he’s only texted her twice to let her know that he’s feeling more anxiety than usual, and she responds with some suggestions on taking care of that before resorting to his Xanax, but stresses that taking a Xanax in no way means he has ‘slipped’ or ‘fallen,’ and that they have been prescribed to him for a reason. Jack hasn’t needed once since the season started, and while he’d hate to break his streak, he would much rather get back to feeling even-keeled as soon as possible.

            He brings up the anxiety to Eric a week after their trip to Boston together. “I had to talk to my therapist a couple of times,” he says, after a game against the Ducks. “I was feeling out of control, but she helped me balance myself.”

            “Did you need a Xanax?” Eric asks, and Jack appreciates being able to talk to him so candidly about his condition.

            “I didn’t, actually. She suggested I try asking myself _when will I be able to do x, y, and z_ rather than _I have to do x, y, and z_. That helped calm me down enough to push past the attack.”

            Eric makes a soft noise of understanding. They’ve got each other on speakerphone while Eric takes a break from studying and Jack does some laundry. Eric has a test in the morning and Jack doesn’t want to keep him, but they always talk at night so he didn’t want to break that part of his routine. “I never thought about it that way,” Eric says. “Sometimes I get so stressed out with school that I have a hard time being motivated, since there’s so much I _know_ I have to do. Maybe I’ll try that myself.”

            “She says it’s something she recently started doing herself and found that it helps her focus not on what she needs to do, but when she feels ready to do it.” He pauses. “She’s also suggested that we could raise the dosage of my Lexapro, but I’ve been back down to fifteen for a while now and I don’t want to have to go up to twenty again.”

            Eric’s quiet for a moment. “So please keep in mind that I am not a doctor, but…is there anything bad that would happen if you raised it?”

            “Well…no. I’ve done it before when I’ve had to deal with an extra amount of anxiety for an extended period of time.”

            “Does it make you fuzzy or anything like that?”

            He smiles a little. “No. It can stabilize me a little more…quickly, I guess. And I respond pretty quickly to raising or lowering the dosages, so it’s not like it would take another six weeks to work. Maybe two.”

            Eric’s quiet again, like he’s thinking. “You’re entering a really stressful part of the season, right?”

            “I see where you’re going with this.”

            “I just mean,” Eric says, overly quickly as though he thinks Jack is mad, “that if you’ve been up to twenty before and you know how it affects you, and it will help you stabilize yourself quicker than the fifteen, and your doctor has already suggested it—”

            “I know, I know.” He sighs, trying to soften his voice, because when Eric can’t see his face he always assumes Jack is mad when really, Jack is just thinking and his thinking tends to sound annoyed. “It’s just a pride thing.”

            “What has pride got to do with this?”

            “Nobody really talks about my overdose much anymore, but…I don’t know. It makes me very aware of…I haven’t had a full-blown panic attack in a while, but I still can have them, and upping my dosage makes me feel like I’m…losing progress.”

            Eric doesn’t say anything for a long moment. Jack focuses on putting wet clothes into the dryer, waiting for Eric to speak. “Jack, you are always going to have anxiety. Sometimes it’s going to be better, sometimes it’s going to be worse, but it’s something you will deal with for the rest of your life. There’s no ‘losing progress’ in this. You are under a physician’s direction, and if you need to up your dosage at her suggestion, then you don’t need to feel lesser by taking that suggestion. You’re working on what’s doing best for _you_. It’s something you have to be consciously aware of all the time. If it helps, why not do it?”

            Jack chuckles a little. “You’re really astute, you know that?”

            “Am I? Sweet.”

            He laughs more. “Yeah. Thanks for your…perspective on it. I appreciate it.” He sighs a little. “I’ll talk to Rashanna and let her know that twenty would be good until playoffs are done.”

            “Sounds like a plan,” Eric says breezily, and after that they talk about his history exam, and Jack gives him some encouragement and offers to go over his notes with him. They end up videochatting on the computer then, so Jack can see Eric’s notes and ask him questions. His obsession with history documentaries actually helps with a few of Eric’s blank spots in his memory, and Eric awards him the assist on his review.

            Relaxed, easy, and in good spirits, they end their conversation and Jack finishes his laundry.

 

            The next three weeks move by quickly. Eric gets an 83 on his history test, which he’s very pleased with, and his grades end up improving from the usual C+ to Bs. It’s only when Eric brings it up himself that Jack knows he’s taken down the site. “You didn’t have to,” Jack says. “Not because of me.”

            “I didn’t,” Eric tells him. “I mean, I _did_ do it because of you, but not in the way that you think. I just…didn’t want it anymore. I have the money I need for school and stuff, and that’s what I set out to do.”

            “Are you sure?”

            Eric’s voice is amused. “Yes, Mr. Zimmermann, I am very sure. I’m confident in my decision.”

            Jack can’t help it when he says, “I won’t lie, I’m kind of glad I don’t have to share you with anyone.”

            After that, Eric’s pleasure at Jack’s admission of jealousy makes itself known, and they hang up sated and contented with each other.

            The Canadiens go 4-1 in their next five games before Boston, and Jack is at his most focused. Now, he’s grateful that he upped his dosage of his Lexapro; it’s just the kick he needed to keep himself at the top of his game. Once the season’s over, he’ll easily slip back down. Eric was right. He’s doing what he needs to do to get himself taken care of.

            Seeing Eric again is like taking his first breath of air after being underwater. They’re in public—Eric, Shitty, and Lardo have met him at the hotel so he can check in—but he can already feel Eric’s hands on him as he gets his room card at the front desk with the rest of the team, glancing over repeatedly at where Eric is waiting in the lobby. It’s spring in Boston, and a balmy 15°, but even though Lardo and Shitty are in shorts, Eric is still in jeans, a very soft-looking green henley, and a black hoodie. _I’m from the South_ , he’d complained before. _Y’all’s version of cold is different from ours. Don’t judge._

            He can imagine how much fun it would be having Eric in Canada for Christmas.

            Once he’s gotten everything put away and the team has had their meeting, everyone splits off to do their own thing for the evening, with curfew being ten. Jack joins his group downstairs and shoves his hands into the pockets of his shorts so he doesn’t accidentally touch Eric in a very inappropriate way.

            “Nice legs,” Shitty says, blatantly admiring Jack’s calves.

            “Yours are adequate,” Jack tells him, and gets a fist-bump for it in return.

            “Y’all are nuts,” Eric says, and burrows deeper into his hoodie. “It’s not even sixty, for God’s sake.” He looks up at Jack with a quietly adoring smile. Jack smiles back. He feels ridiculous, but his heart is jumping around like it’s giddy. Eric is so attractive. The first time Jack saw him up close behind the bench at that first game, he almost couldn’t believe that floppy-haired blonde looking at him with total shock was _his_. It took Jack the better part of the evening to even be able to look Eric in the eye, much less touch him. And God, when they touched, it was amazing.

            “Um,” Lardo says, “you two are making eyes at each other, and somebody else other than me is going to notice any second now.”

            “Sorry,” Eric says, and he flushes hard before looking away. “Uh. Are we getting food or what?”

            Jack raises his hand and they all stare at him. “I need to vote for something heavy on protein, please. Preferably fish.”

            Shitty snorts. “We’re getting you a burger.”

            “I can’t!” Jack says, making a face. “I have to stick to my meal plan.”

            “Meal plan,” Lardo repeats, looking Jack up and down. “You’re built like a brick shithouse.”

            He lets them steer him toward the Barracuda Tavern, which has grilled salmon, rice, and vegetables to satisfy Jack, but ‘real food,’ Eric says, for everyone else. He settles next to Eric in the booth and squeezes his knee under the table. Eric responds in kind. They eat their dinner, and after that Eric goes back with Jack to his hotel room, and they spend the next hour on the bed, making out, then making love, then falling asleep. This is the happiest Jack has ever been in his life, and waking up with Eric asleep against his back is something he thinks he’d be okay with for, well. Always.

            His Fitbit is set for a silent alarm so he doesn’t wake Eric, but as soon as he starts moving, Eric makes a noise, shifts, and sits up a little. He hadn’t their last trip—for all intents and purposes, he was dead to the world—but now he’s up at ten to six and rubbing at his eyes. He looks sleep-warm and tousled, and Jack suddenly wants to change his schedule.

            “Hey,” Eric says, and he’s smiling. “Getting up for your workout?”

            “Yeah. You should go back to sleep.” He leans in and lets himself give Eric a soft kiss. “Workout, then a run, then I’ll be back around eight.”

            “Part of me—the part I’m telling to shut up—wants to know what your workout looks like, but there’s literally no way I could ever keep up, so I’ll just imagine you being all hot and sweaty with your muscles bulging.”

            Jack snorts. “I am not very attractive when I’m huffing and puffing on the elliptical.”

            “I doubt you huff and puff. Lardo was right—you’re built like a brick shithouse.”

            “I still don’t really know what that means, but it makes me feel weird.”

            Eric laughs. “It’s a compliment, I swear.” He settles further down into the blankets, his bare chest a temptation. “What do you have after your run?”

            Jack licks his lips, an unconscious movement. “You?”

            “I was hoping you’d say that.” He rolls over, presenting his gorgeous back, and Jack hesitates a second too long before sliding out of the bed. He has to stick to his schedule. He has a schedule for a reason, and the main reason is that it helps him control his anxiety. He has a schedule for a reason.

            “Love you,” Jack tells him, and gets a sleepy murmur of assent in return.

 

            Eric’s hands are a gift. They are firm and strong and soft and tender all at once, and they slide over Jack’s body with ease. Eric’s not shy like he was anymore, and touches with confidence wherever he wants. In the shower together, he eases Jack against the tile with one hand on the back of his neck (and oh God, Jack is _enjoying this_ ) before he lets the fingers of his free hand trail down Jack’s shaking spine to the crest of his ass. Jack lets Eric hold him down. He’s trembling with how much he likes it.

            “We should try something,” Eric says, and Jack only spreads his legs a little wider.

            “What’s that?”

            “You should let me fuck you.”

            Jack closes his eyes and exhales sharply. “God, please.”

            “Not like this. I am, tragically, too short.”

            “You can throw me on the bed, if you like.”

            “Oh?”

            Jack swallows. “Um, yes.” He makes an unbidden noise in his throat when Eric’s questing fingers slide down, parting his cheeks and exploring with the help of the water sluicing across his back. Jack’s tight, he can feel it, hasn’t had someone else touch him like this in a very long time. Even the last time they were together didn’t include…this. Not to him.

            He’s shocked when Eric grabs him around the waist and hauls him bodily out of the shower, nearly stumbling over his own feet. They’re both soaking wet but at least they’re clean. Eric bundles him in a towel and only gives him a cursory drying before he’s pushing Jack toward the bed again. The force he’s using has Jack even harder than before. Eric is stronger than he lets on, or maybe he’s just never needed to use his strength like this before.

            He really does all but toss Jack right onto the bed.

            “Stay there,” Eric says, and Jack obeys, trying not to rut his hips against the soft comforter. He wants to come. He wants to come, but he doesn’t think Eric will let him yet, and that only makes him want to come more.

            Jack grips the comforter with both hands as he waits, hearing Eric move around behind him, unzipping a suitcase. He must be looking for the condoms. Because he’s going to fuck Jack. _Merde_.

            The bed shifts with Eric’s weight, and those splendid hands of his are sliding up the back of Jack’s quivering thighs, spreading him open further. Jack pillows his cheek on his folded arms, trying not to squirm. His heart beats staccato against his ribcage.

            Eric, normally talkative, is silent. His mouth falls to Jack’s skin, and he trails little kisses up the outside of his thigh, then across one taut cheek. His breath ghosts across the base of Jack’s spine, which is still damp from their shower. Jack closes his eyes and shakes.

            Then Eric spreads him open, and as one slick finger slides against him, his body tightens up on reflex against the intrusion. Jack shakes and shakes.

            “Do you trust me?” Eric murmurs, stroking over him but not attempting to enter.

            “Of course.”

            “Then let me love on you.”

            Eric has been careful not to say that word in connection with Jack, yet he uses it here. It sounds very deliberate, and Jack sighs. He unclenches his grip on the comforter, tries to get his breathing under some semblance of control. Eric’s fingers press and knead and work into Jack’s muscles, and Jack is calming down when he’s spread open and Eric’s tongue, slick and warm, presses tenderly _just there_ , swirling around a bundle of nerves that make Jack seize up again.

            “Shh,” Eric says, using his tongue in fantastic ways again, circling and stroking. “I’ve got you.”

            “That’s the problem,” Jack says, and his voice sounds thin to his own ears as his heartbeat rushes through every point of his body. Eric doesn’t stop this time, pushing gently and lapping and wiggling his tongue. Jack can’t help the noises he makes, and when he pushes back against Eric, wanting more contact, Eric’s hand falls heavily to his back, pinning him down.

            “No,” Eric says. “Stay still.”

            “But—”

            “No.”

            “Eric,” he whines, and jumps when Eric’s palm comes down across his ass, the sound ringing out. The silence that follows is breathless.

            “I said,” Eric says, “no.” Then he applies his mouth to better use and Jack can only make noises as he struggles to obey. The heat building in his belly is encompassing. He can’t focus on anything but Eric’s tongue and what it’s doing to his body, because it is _glorious_. This has never happened to him before, and he finds he’s gasping as he enjoys it immensely, particularly the way it completely strips him of any power of thought. He thinks of nothing but Eric and Eric’s tongue and his clever fingers. A nuclear bomb could go off, and as long as Eric doesn’t stop, Jack will not care.

            But Eric does stop. His tongue is suddenly absent and Jack nearly sobs, forcing his body to remain still. He wants to obey.

            “I see you’re learning,” Eric says, and the words are all at once teasing and heated. Instead of his tongue, a slick, searching finger slips right inside him, his muscles sufficiently unfettered from Eric’s previous ministrations.

            Then Eric finds his prostate in an instant, and Jack nearly jumps off the bed, a gasp choking his throat. He forgot how good this was, could never really find it himself in his own body, but he’s found it before in Eric’s. Has seen the reactions and the way Eric writhes in sheer pleasure. Now he can’t help the little noises that trickle from his throat, his dick throbbing as it pushes, leaking, across the sheets. His back hurts from the straining effort of keeping as still as possible, but all hope is lost. He arches against Eric’s fingers, and when his free hand traces lightly across Jack’s balls, Jack goes silent as he comes. It _hurts_ , pushing out of his body like this, forceful and unbidden. Hazily, he wonders what they’re going to do about the hotel sheets.

            “You sweet boy,” Eric says, and he pulls out of Jack, leaving him open and empty. “You sweet, sweet boy. You want to rest?”

            “Fuck me,” Jack says, into the bed. He tries to push himself to his knees a little more. “Please. Like this.” He’s still throbbing with his orgasm.

            Eric is quick, very quick. Within ten erratic heartbeats, his hands are on Jack’s hips and he’s pushing into him, firm but slow, and Jack’s body accepts him completely, inch by inch, until Eric is seated inside him and drapes himself over Jack’s back. He bites at Jack’s shoulder, and when Jack responds with a noise and a jerk of his hips, does it again.

            He’s going to have love bites all over his back, and he can’t bring himself to care.

            “Do you like it when I talk you through it?” Eric asks, his sticky hand curving around Jack’s hipbone to hold him in place. Jack can feel Eric pulsing inside him, and it’s a wonderful feeling, stretched and wide and owned. He only nods. Eric bites at his shoulder blade. “Jack. Talk.”

            “I like it,” he says slowly, whimpering, “when you talk me through it.”

            “Did you like it when I spanked you?”

            His face flushes hotly, and he gasps when Eric pulls out just enough and pushes back in. “Yeah, yeah.”

            “Want me to do it again?”

            He squeezes his eyes shut, increasing the sensations he’s feeling in his body. They are overwhelming. He’s having a hard time doing any sort of actual thinking. “Not right now.”

            “Later, then?”

            “Maybe.”

            Eric’s hips find a movement he seems to like—shallow and slow, pushing deep each time, his balls flush up against Jack’s body. Jack thinks, impossibly, that he may actually be able to come again, and that thought turns from _maybe_ to _definitely_ when Eric slides a hand into the lengthening hair at the back of his head and pulls at him, arching his back. It feels. So. Good.

            “You like that?” Eric asks, and Jack swallows with a click, responds with an affirmative little mew, and cries out when Eric’s hips snap forward hard. “Answer me with words.”

            “Oui,” he says, biting at his lips. Eric’s grip is delicious. “Cela me plaît. C’est bon.”

            “You’re not gonna last long if you’re already using French on me.” His grip tightens, and his hips slam in harder, and Jack is a mess. His mind has been obliterated. He cannot think, has been fucked into a dimension where his brain is not needed, and all he has to do is feel—feel the way Eric’s cock, oh, pushes into his body, the way it releases him only to bring him back. Eric’s hands move to his hips now, and he’s fucking frantically in a way that whites out Jack’s brain. He’s making noises, he knows he is, but he doesn’t know what they are except that they’re coming from his throat. The blood rushes in his ears and a hand curls around his cock, and suddenly he is coming, convulsing, shouting, gasping. His pulsing need crashes over him in waves like it’s trying to get out, and that makes him warm and fuzzy all over, and he’s so completely blissed out he forgets to breathe, has to inhale suddenly, sharply, before he blacks out.

            The bed is soft. His skin is slick with sweat. Someone is touching him gently. It is dark. Jack realizes it is dark because his eyes are closed, so he opens them. The world tilts.

            “Jesus, Jack, talk to me.”

            Jack turns toward the source of the noise, says, “Allô.”

            Eric looks just as strung out as Jack feels, his hair a mess, a sheen of sweat on his chest. He strokes Jack’s hair away from his forehead. “Oh my God, are you okay?”

            Jack takes a little longer to respond. “I think so.”

            “Jesus. We are never doing that again on game day, I thought you died.” He bends down to kiss Jack lightly on the mouth, and Jack kisses him back belatedly. “Are you okay? Do you need anything?”

            He shakes his head, slowly. “I’m…I’m okay. Just. I think I was really affected there.”

            “Affected. Jack. I literally thought you died.”

            He chuckles now, because it’s funny. He can breathe again, and his head doesn’t feel like it’s swimming that much anymore. “That was one of the best things that’s ever happened to me, but I don’t know if I can ever handle it again.”

            Eric’s fingers are tender in his hair. “You looked so beautiful, though,” he says quietly. “Completely beside yourself. Making all that noise for me.”

            “God.” Jack covers his face in embarrassment. “I don’t even know what you did to me, but God.”

            “It was great.” Eric settles next to him, curling him close. Jack appreciates the tenderness; he’s still feeling a little shaken out of his skin and needs to settle down. “That was, uh. My first time.”

            Jack jerks his head up to stare. “Excuse me?”

            “Like. Being on top?”

            Something ill settles in Jack’s stomach. “That was your first time? Why didn’t you tell me?” They could’ve done it differently, the way they did when Eric was in his lap. All soft and slow and tender. This was…intense and a little dirty.

            Eric rolls his eyes and slaps at Jack’s shoulder. “Don’t look at me like that. I did it exactly how I wanted it. It was…really good.”

            “Oh my God—did you _come_?” Jack doesn’t remember at all. He feels awful, completely awful.

            But Eric only smiles at him as if he’s sharing a secret with him, stretching out his lean golden body. “Oh, yes. Yes, I did. A lot. It was amazing. I’m happy to do that again, whenever you want me to.” He pauses. “Just not on game day.”

            Eric’s tender petting relaxes Jack into a quiet doze. They put on a movie together, and when it’s time for Jack’s nap, he takes it with his head on Eric’s chest and Eric rubbing his back. It is a very good nap, and he’s woken gently seventy-five minutes later with kisses. He could get used to this. He _wants_ to get used to this. He murmurs his love a few times until Eric’s mouth is on his again and then he mumbles the words anyway.

            “I’m thinking of buying a house in Boston,” he finds himself saying, when Eric has dressed. He’s wearing a new Canadiens t-shirt this time, and it’s the vintage-washed style that he himself favors. It fits Eric like a glove. It looks _delicious_ on him. Jack has to force himself not to reach out again, instead focusing on buttoning his shirt for the bus trip to the rink.

            Eric, fiddling with his phone, looks up. His thumbs are still. “You’re what?”

            “A house in Boston,” he says. “Or maybe an apartment. Buying a house sounds really final.” He carefully tucks his shirt in before working on his tie. “Would you want to help me find one?”

            “Why do you want a house in Boston?”

            Jack slants a look at him. “Because you’re not in Montréal.”

            The look that Eric gives him then is exasperated, but half-adoring. “You lovely beast of a man. How dare you.”

            “What did I do?”

            “Decided to be perfect.” He moves to the window, looking out over the city. “How much money do you have to spend on a house, anyway?”

            Jack shakes out his jacket, which had been hanging in the closet. “What do you mean?”

            “I mean, what’s your budget?”

            “Budget?”

            Eric turns and looks at him like he’s speaking Klingon. “Why are you repeating everything I say? What is your budget for a house?”

            “Uh, I wasn’t thinking about budget. How much do houses cost?”

            Now Eric is looking at him with narrowed eyes. “How much did you pay for your apartment?”

            “I didn’t. My parents bought it for me as a signing gift.”

            “And your truck?”

            “Birthday gift.”

            “Jack. Do you know what things cost?”

            Jack shrugs, feeling suddenly helpless. Eric’s giving him this _look_ and he’s not sure what it means. “I guess I don’t?”

            “So if I told you,” Eric says, very slow, “that a house in Boston could easily cost a million dollars, what would you say to that?”

            “Oh.”

            “Oh?”

            “That’s what I would say to that.”

            “Is that a lot of money to you, or…?”

            Jack bites at his lip. “Not really. Seems like an arbitrary number.”

            The look is sheer disbelief, that’s what it is. “You’re saying. That a million dollars. Is an arbitrary number?”

            “Um.”

            “How much is your current contract?” Before Jack can answer, Eric’s thumbs are flying across the screen of his phone. Jack returns to putting on his socks and shoes, something uncomfortable in the pit of his stomach. “Sweet Jesus and Mary,” Eric says. “You’re getting _seventy-five million dollars_ over _six years_?”

            Jack says nothing, because he doesn’t think he’s supposed to at this point.

            “Jack.”

            “It’s just money,” he says, and he sounds petulant and privileged to his own ears. “I mean, we’ve always had it. I give a lot away.”

            “Do you know what’s in your bank account right now?”

            He last looked a while back, but yes, he knows. “Yeah.” And then, “You’re making me uncomfortable.”

            Instantly Eric’s face changes and softens, and he moves over to Jack. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to, really. I’m just. I’m fucking floored, Jack. I knew you were a millionaire, but I’m thinking like. Seven digits. We’re looking at eight digits here. And I know you’ve done the UnderArmour ads, so I bet they pay you for that too.” He slides a hand through his hair, which is artfully tousled. “I’m just really overwhelmed by the fact that you could…I don’t know…donate ten million to someone and not blink.”

            Jack looks at him for a long moment, trying to figure out where Eric might be going with this. “Do you…I mean, are you asking…”

            “What? No, Jack! I’m not _asking you for money_ , oh my God.” He puts his face in his hands, and Jack’s worried that he’s pissed off, but instead Eric just starts laughing. “This is just kind of surreal, you know? You’re a multi-millionaire who’s like, ‘Yeah, I dunno, I don’t have a budget for anything,’ and I’m the guy who jacked off online for a year to pay for school.”

            Stomaching twisting, Jack reaches out for him, more unsure than he thinks he’s ever been with Eric. “You’re more than that. I don’t understand what we’re actually talking about here. You’re going to have to be explicit with me.”

            Eric looks up at him, his dark eyes serious. “Part of me is thinking that you are just this sweet boy who loves me, and then another part of me realizes that you’ve never…wanted for anything in your life. Never had to settle for something less because you couldn’t afford something more.”

            He feels cold all over. It’s like a shock to his system. “Are,” he breathes, unable to get the words out, “are you. Are you breaking up with me?” It’s been their joke for a while now, Eric forgetting to call and asking Jack _are you gonna break up with me_ and they would laugh, but something about this feels intensely different. Eric could leave him over this. Eric probably thinks he’s spoiled and worthless.

            Eric cups his face. “Jack, of course I’m not. I’m just really realizing that the differences between us are more than Southern and French Canadian, that’s all. I don’t want to break up with you.”

            The words sound hollow. Jack can hear a slight ringing in his ears and he wants to sit down. Eric pats his cheek. “Jack? Are you with me? Honey, I didn’t mean anything by it, I’m really just thinking out loud. Just look at me, love.”

            Such dark eyes. Jack loves those eyes. “I’m—sorry, I think I’m—just give me a minute.”

            Eric nods, stroking the back of his neck gently. “I so did not mean it the way it sounded, I promise. You know I adore you, Jack. I’m here for the long haul with you, I mean that. Come here.”

            With his face tucked against the side of Eric’s neck, Jack carefully matches his own breathing to Eric’s, something he used to do with his mom after his overdose when he would panic several times a day. Eric keeps murmuring sweet little things to him until Jack calms down enough to focus.

            “You’re not…mad at me, are you?” Jack says, because he still isn’t sure.

            “Why would I be mad, baby?”

            “I’m not sure. I’m getting a weird vibe from you, and it’s making me worried.”

            Eric’s fingers are so gentle in Jack’s hair. “I don’t mean to upset you. I’m just realizing that…you had a life before we met. Obviously you did, I’m not _dumb_ or anything, but wow. I guess I just didn’t realize how you grew up. I’m just thinking internally, nothing for you to worry about.”

            Jack worries his tongue against the back of his teeth for a moment. “Are you sure you want to be with me, though?”

            Eric cups his face. “Jack Laurent Zimmermann. That has never been a doubt in my mind, not even from day one, when all you did was type to me while I stared at a dark screen.”

            The knot in his stomach eases then, and he manages to return Eric’s sweet smile. “Okay. You had me scared.”

            “I know. I’m sorry.”

            “No, it’s okay. Just me being insecure.”

            “Lord, do I know what that’s like.” He reaches around and playfully squeezes Jack’s ass. “Like a Greek god right here, sweet Jesus.”

            Things get easier after that, but Jack continues to feel something nagging at him. Eric, however, seems perfectly normal, giving him an enthusiastic kiss when Jack leaves, saying he’ll be meeting with Shitty and Lardo for a couple of beers pre-game. Jack nods and heads out to meet the team at the bus downstairs.

            The game against the Bruins is particularly brutal. Jack is his usual intense self on the ice, but Boston seems to be doing anything they can to distract him—including checking him several times against the boards and earning themselves multiple penalties.

            “Christ, they’ve got it out for you,” Eller hisses at him, when Jack lurches into the bench. It’s the roughest game he’s had in a long time, and it’s making him agitated. “Just keep focused, Jacky-boy, we can do this.”

            Four more penalties to Boston, four more hard checks against the boards. Markov gets so pissed he gets his own penalty for fighting. Jack’s ready to join him, but he tries to keep calm.            Against his usual nature, he turns at one point to look at Eric, Shitty, and Lardo, who are all focused on the game. Eric’s face is flushed and he looks _angry_. Jack feels a little better at that and turns back around to the ice.

            Then, in the third period, after seven years of only very minor injuries and having never sat out more than a game, Jack gets slammed against the boards and feels something sharp and hot in his shoulder. When he picks himself up off the ice and tries to rotate his shoulder, the pain blossoms.

            Jack is not one to throw things when he’s pissed, but he wants to. Dr. Lacroix comes out onto the ice when it’s clear Jack is injured. His Québécois is a comfort. “Tell me what happened.”

            “Pulled something,” Jack says, clenching his teeth.

            “Where?”

            “Left shoulder.”

            “Level of pain?”

            “Maybe a three.”

            “Be honest.”

            “A six.”

            “Let’s get you off the ice and have a look—”

            “I want to play,” Jack insists, even as Dr. Lacroix coaxes him toward the bench.

            “I’ll decide that,” Dr. Lacroix says, and he leads Jack to the tunnel. The game continues. Jack glances up and sees Eric watching him, his brows drawn with concern. Jack nods at him, hoping Eric understands that he’s fine and that he’s very good at getting his way when he really wants it.

            In the locker room, once Dr. Lacroix exams him, he tells Jack what Jack absolutely does not want to hear—he’s got a type one separated shoulder and could be out two weeks. With an ice pack strapped to his shoulder, Jack returns to the bench out of his padding and sits heavily with his teammates. Dr. Lacroix confers with Therrien, who gives Jack some encouraging words that don’t make him feel any better. He finishes the game by being the loudest cheerleader he can be, and in OT, the Canadiens squeak out a 3-2 win.

            The media swarms him as soon as they’re allowed, crowding his locker and asking him questions about the injury, did he think Boston was playing dirty, what does this mean for the first round of the playoffs, and if Jack’s been the reason the team has been playing so focused, what will happen now?

            Jack’s good with the media; he had to be, after his rehab, and the Habs PR department has been great at coaching him on what words he can use, and what phrases go over the best. His answers are mild and give them what they want to hear without actually saying much of anything. He talks about how much he respects Dr. Lacroix and will do whatever he is advised, and that getting to the playoffs has been a team effort and no one person has ever been the hero. He says he will be there for his team in whatever capacity he needs to be, and that he’s ready to bring the Cup back to Montréal.

            Jack sees Shitty first, and he’s surprised that Jake let them in so early. Then he sees Eric’s face and his heart beats a little faster. Eric is having a conversation with Lardo, but he looks very strained, and very upset. His phone is in his hand, and Jack wonders if he’s already Googled him to read an article about his injury. There are most likely tweets already available from the media.

            “Hey,” Shitty says, when Jack can slip away enough and navigate the crowd over to them. “Tough fucking luck, am I right?”

            “It’s not too bad,” Jack says, more for Eric’s benefit than anything else. Eric is looking at his phone, thumbs dancing across the screen. He’s silent, and Jack wants to hold him. “Just a really mild separated shoulder. Only two weeks out.”

            “They were on you like white on rice,” Lardo says, and she pats Jack right on the ass, which makes him smile. “Glad they didn’t permanently disfigure any part of your body, bro.”

            “What’s the treatment plan?” Eric asks, and his voice is brusque and matter-of-fact. He still isn’t looking up from his phone.

            “Ice for twenty minutes every hour or so for forty-eight hours,” Jack says, repeating what Dr. Lacroix had said. “Then I have to keep it as mobile as possible to avoid tightness. That’s pretty much it.” His voice softens. “I’ve had a lot worse.”

            “No, you haven’t,” Eric says.

            “I mean, before the NHL. I had a pretty bad concussion—”

            “What else do you need to do?” Eric says, and Shitty nudges at him. Eric finally looks up. He’s pale. “What?”

            Shitty leans into him and murmurs something in his ear. Jack shifts uncomfortably. He’s felt a little off-kilter from Eric ever since their weird…confrontation that afternoon, and now this. All he wants to do is go to bed.

            “Let’s get out of here,” Lardo says. “Can you come with us, Jack?”

            “I need to see Dr. Lacroix one more time,” he says, “but I can meet you somewhere if you like.”

            “We’ll text you,” Shitty says, patting him on his good shoulder. “See you soon, big guy.”

 

            Dr. Lacroix finishes up with him within half an hour, giving him some painkillers for the night after consulting with Rashanna. Jack has never had a problem with painkillers, but he appreciates the concern. By the time he’s dressed and his shoulder is in a sling, he checks his phone and sees that he has a whopping thirty-five text messages.

            Ten alone are from his parents, so he calls them first to reassure them that he’s okay, it’s just a separation, he’ll probably be able to play in the first playoff game. His dad is relieved it’s only a type one, and his mom tells him she loves him several times

            The bulk of his texts are from Eric, and what looks like Shitty and Lardo.

 

 _19:32_ **Eric B.:** What the fuck is wrong with Boston???  >:(

 _19:41_ **Eric B.:** Jesus, I am going to murder all of them. What the fuck is this shit????

 _19:57_ **Eric B.:** JACK WHY ARE THEY DOING THIS TO YOU.

 _19:59_ **Eric B.:** This is fucking ridiculous, oh my God. You look hot when you’re mad.

 _19:59_ **617-555-2347:** hey bruh it’s lardo, i think it’s important that you understand that bits is losing his shit and you’re probably gonna get the full force of his love tonight

 _20:01_ **617-555-2347:** oh man are you going to get love

 _20:02_ **617-555-2347:** he shows his love differently when you’ve been hurt so pls bear in mind that he will be very angry first and it is not at you it is at the entire state of massachusetts

 _20:07_ **Eric B.:** Does Massachusetts have a death penalty?

 _20:08_ **Eric B.:** Google says yes for federal crimes.

 _20:11_ **617-555-9001:** hey bruh it’s shitty ummmmmmmmmmmm holy shit

 _20:14_ **Eric B.:** >:( >:( >:( >:(

 _20:22_ **Eric B.:** FUCK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

 _20:25_ **Eric B.:** Seriously, so hot when angry. :-*

 _20:31_ **617-555-9001:** how are you not dead yet

 _20:32_ **617-555-2347:** shitty wants to know how you’re not dead yet pls share with the class

 _20:36_ **Eric B.:** You only get the death penalty if you’re convicted.

 _20:36_ **Eric B.:** I’m too cute to be convicted. I will murder Boston.

 _20:36_ **Eric B.:** The whole city of Boston.

 _20:51_ **617-555-9001:** how are you walking this off

 _21:00_ **Eric B.:** Oh my God. Jack. I’ve never seen you hurt before. :( :( :( :( :( :( :(

 _21:01_ **Eric B.:** Jack. :(

 _21:01_ **617-555-2347:** you’re in for it now pal. bits is freaking out.

 _21:09_ **617-555-2347:** introducing stoic bits, the bits that is so freaked out he’s silent

 _21:11_ **617-555-9001:** how are you alive

 _22:33_ **617-555-2347:** don’t let bits get you upset he’s just super worried about you, meet us at porters 173 portland st

 

            Jack eases out of the cab at Porters Bar and Grill and heads inside. It takes him almost a minute to locate them in the very back corner, and he settles into the booth beside Eric with a small smile. “Hi there.”

            “The highlight reel on your hit looks way worse than it was in person,” Shitty says by way of hello. “Like, holy crap, it looks like you got slammed into hell and yanked back again. But here you are with no broken face. Nice job.”

            “It was honestly just a freak accident,” he says. “Right pressure at the right time. Lacroix isn’t really concerned, and I’m probably going to be fine for the playoffs.”

            “Hockey injuries happen all the time,” Lardo says, and Jack thinks it’s more for Eric’s benefit than anyone else’s. “At least you have all your teeth.”

            “One’s a crown,” Jack says, and that gets the others to laugh, but Eric is still quiet next to him. Jack nudges him until Eric meets his eyes. “Hi,” he says, and Eric smiles back but it’s not sincere. Jack nudges him again. “Hi,” he says, and this time Eric’s smile is a little more genuine.

            “You oaf,” Eric says, and Jack just smiles more.

            “I’m really, really okay,” he adds.

            “It could’ve been worse.”

            “It wasn’t.” He pauses. “Hockey’s a contact sport. You’ve seen me get knocked around before.”

            “Not like that.”

            Shitty clears his throat. “I am going to go look at that thing in the corner over there,” he says, and slides out of the booth followed by Lardo.

            “That was smooth,” Jack says dryly, and Eric turns to him, face all serious again. Jack knows they’re in public, but part of him doesn’t care. Eric looks like he wants to touch him so badly.

            “Are you _really_ okay?”

            “I am. It was just a type one separation, which is the easiest to heal. Two weeks off. That’s it. Nothing else, other than the usual bruises and sore muscles.”

            “But one day you could get an injury where you might not be okay.”

            Jack nods. “Yeah. I could.”

            “Like a really bad concussion.”

            “It’s possible, but honestly, with how games are televised now, the kind of hits that players could get away with before aren’t happening as much, so having a career-ending concussion, or a life-threatening one, isn’t something I’m worried about.” He smiles a little. “I am way more concerned about my knees and hips. I doubt I’m gonna be an Yzerman, playing for over twenty years. I don’t see how I can do that. But I promise you I am fine.”

            Eric chews at his lip, and his eyes are on the sling. “You scared me.”

            “I know. I’m sorry.”

            “I am going to burn this city to the ground.”

            Jack nudges at him until Eric relents and sits a little closer. “Please don’t. It’s just hockey. They thought that by targeting me, it would give them an advantage.” He smiles. “It didn’t.”

            “So two weeks.”

            “Yeah. Just have to take it easy. Won’t even miss the first playoff game.”

            Eric squeezes Jack’s knee briefly, exhaling slowly. “That’s good.”

            Jack’s voice is soft when he says his I love you, and Eric simply smiles at him until Shitty and Lardo return.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to stress here that I am in no way a doctor, and you should not take anything I've said in this fic as doctor's advice. I only wrote what I am familiar with personally.
> 
> I gave Jack the medication I myself take (though I've been on 10mg for 8 weeks now and we're not seeing the full results we want, so I'll probably go up to 15mg this week). My doc has also said that she regularly ups the dosage for her patients during long periods of extra stress (like when starting a new job) or during winter when anxiety and depression can worsen. I take the generic version of Lexapro, and I've also been prescribed .25mg of generic Xanax to be taken at the start of a panic attack (I'm having one panic attack every 1-2 weeks at this point, which is a lot better than the 3-4 a week before I started my medication). Since I'm new to the medication, my doctor has started me low and slow on everything. My guess is that Jack has probably been taking this for several years now and is more acclimated to it--thus, the higher dosages as well.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: There are two potentially triggering and painful moments re: coming out to parents and homophobia. The first starts with "There’s a very long silence" and ends with “Let me think about it" (please feel free to ctrl+f and skip this part if necessary). The second starts with “Yet you made time to come see us" and could potentially be triggering for the remainder of the fic.
> 
> If you are in any way uncertain about reading this part, please reach out to me and I can describe it to you first before you dive in so you can decide if this is a part you can read or not. If you cannot, you're not missing anything critical in the fic (it's brought up in the next part but is not 100% necessary to read if you are in any way uncomfortable). 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has been so kind with regards to this fic. I was so nervous about posting it, but this fandom has renewed something in me, and I greatly appreciate every one of you.

            The sling puts an unfortunate damper on some of their fun, but Bitty can blow Jack just fine and ride him as well, so it’s not a _total_ loss. He lets go of his worry when Jack tells him he’s rented “a place” in Boston for the first week of his pre-playoff break, and he’s planning to spend as much time with Bitty as possible. Bitty can’t skip class the entire week, but he lets Jack pay for his cab ride from Samwell to Boston, and the first time he sees Jack’s _rental place_ , he nearly shits himself.

            “This is a mansion,” he says, when Jack opens the front door. He looks incredibly attractive and casual in black Nike sweatpants and a very worn Canadiens t-shirt that strains at his bicep.

            “It had the best kitchen,” Jack says, and when Bitty steps in, shifting his backpack higher up his shoulder, he stares at the huge vaulted ceilings, the massive fireplace as the centerpiece in the living room, and miles and miles of hardwood floor. It looks ridiculously expensive and pompous, but Jack doesn’t. Jack looks pleased to see him and a little tousled from a nap. Bitty leans in and up on his toes to kiss him, and Jack’s mouth is as generous as ever.

            Bitty gets a tour of the house. Jack’s only been there since the morning so it’s not like he’s done much in it, but when Bitty sees the kitchen he nearly faints. It. Is. _Gorgeous_. There’s a six-burner gas stove, a double oven, and a massive refrigerator. There’s so much counter space he wants to cry.

            “Will this do?” Jack asks, coming up behind him as he gazes at the cabinetry.

            Bitty only nods and turns to him, hugging him close, careful of his shoulder.

            There’s a fucking pool table, three bathrooms, a gorgeous outdoor seating area, green lawn and lots of trees, a pool _and a hot tub_ , and a _ton_ of privacy. If this is the kind of treatment he gets for dating a hockey star, he’s okay with it.

            The best part is saved for last, though. (Well, second best to the kitchen.) When Bitty see the master bedroom, his first instinct is to feel horribly awful for thinking about all the sex they can have in a room like that, but Jack’s flushed hotly so he’s probably thinking the same thing. There’s a Jacuzzi tub in the bathroom, and a private deck that leads off the French doors from the bedroom.

            “You like it?” Jack asks, and Bitty throws arms around him again, distracting him for the next half hour on the king sized bed. It’s only once Jack has come that Bitty settles next to him, rebuffing all of Jack’s attempts at reciprocation.

            “You can play with me later,” Bitty says with a grin. “Right now, I want to bake something for you, and I actually have some homework to do.”

            Jack looks at him with his hazy post-orgasm eyes that Bitty loves so much. “I can try to help with the homework.”

            “It’s history, so you probably can.”

            They make their way down into the kitchen, and Bitty is pleased to see that Jack has had the fridge and pantry stocked. Jack’s embarrassed by it, but he does point out that there are five different flours. Bitty kisses him again as a thank you.

            As he’s rolling out the dough, Jack sits at the island and clicks around on his laptop. “Buying a house is hard,” he says.

            “Well, what are you looking for?”

            “Something with a nice kitchen.”

            Bitty grins up at him. “Oh, I can help you pick out one of those.”

            Jack looks at him for a long moment before sighing. “I love you.”

            “I know. Say it again.”

            “I love you.”

            Bitty hums as he adds more flour to the dough. This he could get used to. Being domestic. Imagining this house as their own, where he can come home to Jack almost whenever he wants. Part of him thinks about what it will be like after he graduates next year, what he’ll do. He’s still thinking about opening up a bakery. Lardo says he should totes call it Bitty’s, and he kind of likes the sound of it.

            When his pie is in the oven, Bitty stands next to Jack and flips through pictures of Boston homes with him, trying not to point out that some of them are twenty million dollars, Jack, holy balls, because Jack’s not looking at the prices, he’s looking at the pictures—mainly the kitchens, because if it looks too small, he flips to the next listing.

            “I feel like this should take five minutes,” Jack complains, half an hour later. “You should be able to pop in what you want, the house pulls up, you buy it, and that’s it.”

            “Hon, if you think it’s that simple, you’ve got your head either in the clouds or up your ass, not sure which.”

            Jack swats him with his good hand. “Do you see any of these that you like?”

            Bitty blinks at him. “I thought I was just helping you with the kitchen.”

            “I mean. I figured you’d.” Jack stutters when he’s particularly nervous. “I was kind of thinking,” and then he stops again and doesn’t start.

            Sometimes, Bitty thinks Jack’s behavior should be analyzed by people on a show like _Cats 101_. They could call it _French Canadian Hockey Players 101_. “Jack, it sounds like you’re wanting me to live with you.”

            “No.”

            “No?” He grins, poking at Jack’s cheek. “Then why are you blushing?”

            Jack gives a genuine grimace. “I realized how it sounded as soon as I tried to say it.”

            “And how did it sound?”

            “Desperate.”

            Bitty nuzzles at his neck, liking the way Jack’s breathing changes as he gets close. “I didn’t hear desperation.”

            “Maybe you weren’t listening hard enough, because it was definitely there.” He sighs, tucking himself closer to Bitty as though questing for affection, which Bitty readily gives. “I just want to be with you all the time. I feel weird about it.”

            Bitty feels the same way, but he doesn’t feel weird about it at all. He’s known Jack for five months now, which seems ridiculous, really, but Bitty will never forget the way he felt when Jack typed to him. Even then, he felt so genuine and honest, and something in Bitty sparked at Jack’s dry humor, his self-deprecation. Against his better judgment, he reached out. And he’s so glad that he did, because Jack’s presence in his life has been one of the surest things he’s ever had.

            They kiss. It’s a tender little thing, and Bitty only pulls away when the oven beeps, giving him a smile. “You’re in for a treat, buddy.”

            Jack hovers over him as Bitty takes the pie out of the oven, making a noise when Bitty places it on the rack to cool. “That smells amazing,” he says, and Bitty pushes him out of the way with his hip.

            “You have to let it cool a little first.”

            Jack puts his hand behind his back before he inspects the pie, as though to ensure he won’t touch it, and Bitty smiles fondly at him while Jack sniffs around. “You really did put maple in the crust, didn’t you.”

            “You love maple syrup. You told me that once.”

            Jack flushes hotly. “Well, it’s true. I do.”

            The ringing of a phone surprises both of them. Eric’s hand goes to his back pocket, but it’s not his. Not _once_ has Jack’s phone ever rung when they’re together, and for some reason Bitty almost forgot he even has a phone.

            Jack looks at his screen and smiles. “It’s my mom.” And he answers the phone.

            Bitty stays quiet, inspecting the latticework on the pie and being so pleased with the way it came out that he takes a picture and sticks it on his Instagram. Jack is speaking rapid French, and Bitty enjoys the sound of it until he hears his own name. _FrenchFrenchFrenchFrenchEricFrenchFrench_.

            The conversation is less than two minutes. As soon as Jack hangs up, Bitty carefully doesn’t look at him, his heart beating worriedly in his chest. “Did you tell your mother about me?”

            Jack flushes. “Only a very little. That I met a friend in Boston, that you’re hanging out with me today. I haven’t said anything to my parents about you being my boyfriend.”

            “Do they know you’re…?”

            “They know I’m interested in men. I’ve never been particularly explicit about where I fall with that, but they know I’m interested.”

            Something is only now occurring to Bitty, and he’s embarrassed for it. “Have you had a boyfriend before? Like. An actual boyfriend?”

            “Once, sort of. I was young.” He looks down at his phone for a moment. “Nobody I’ve ever told my parents about.”

            “But you’ve sort of told them about me.”

            “Right.” Jack looks at him. “Have you…ever had a boyfriend?”

            “Just you.” He smiles. “Guess I waited for the best.”

            Jack’s tiny, pleased little smile is something Bitty thinks he’s going to remember for a long time.

 

            Completely out of character, Jack eats half the pie by himself in one sitting. Bitty asks him if he likes it and he gets an eyeroll in return. Jack _only_ stops at half because Bitty takes it away.

            “There’ll be time for more after _dinner_ ,” he says, and gets to work on making a lasagna, one of the only things he can really cook, as he’s more of a baker himself. Jack fiddles around looking at houses a little more before giving up, and when his dad calls, he takes the call outside. Bitty watches him from the kitchen, wondering at his relationship with his parents, because Jack doesn’t talk about them very much but he definitely talks about his mom a lot more. He guesses that the father/son relationship must be a little tense, what with the father being such a huge hockey star and the son taking longer to fill those shoes.

            Bitty thinks of his own father, who, even in private, he still calls Coach. He wonders what Coach would think of Jack. Honestly, he’d probably like him a lot, because Jack is a Real Boy and Bitty has never been the kind of boy Coach wanted. There’s a reason Bitty is so close to his mother, though he’s never voiced it to either of them. He thinks about what his mom would say, if he were to tell her. _Mom, this is my boyfriend, Jack Zimmermann, captain of the Montréal_ _Canadiens._ Though his mother is sweet and loving, bless her heart, she’s not the most open-minded person Bitty’s ever known. Every so often, her southern ignorance rears its ugly head in the most unexpected, homophobic ways, but still he wants to tell her that he’s pretty sure he’s in love, that there is a person in the world who has gotten to know him and _wants him_ and takes care of him. That sometimes they fight and argue, but it’s never with the intention of an end; only that this fight is one in a line of many they will probably have over years to come, but they will still be together to fight again in the future.

            That Bitty has thought about what it would be like to marry Jack, get a dog with him. Bitty has always wanted kids—he thinks he’d make a great father, and he thinks Jack would be a great dad, too, and he can see them now with this life in Montréal, maybe, or Boston, or anywhere, as long as they’re together.

            And he wants to tell all of this to his mother, has felt guilty being so incandescently happy without her knowing why. But he doesn’t want Coach to know. Because Coach will ruin it and turn Bitty’s happiness into something shameful, and he wants to keep that part of himself untainted.

            Jack comes back in as Bitty’s cleaning up. He looks strained around the mouth the way he does sometimes, and Bitty’s only now realizing that it’s Jack’s I’ve Just Been Talking To My Dad face.

            “Everything okay?” he asks, trying to be casual. He’s surprised when Jack’s arm slides around his waist from behind and Jack nuzzles at the side of his neck. Damn, but he’s big and warm.

            “Yes, it’s fine. He was just checking in.”

            Hesitantly, Bitty says, “You don’t seem to talk about your parents much.”

            Jack’s quiet for a moment. “We were a little closer before I went to rehab.”

            Something about that sounds heartbreaking. “How did they take it?”

            “Very well, actually. My mom was really supportive. My dad was, too, but I don’t think he ever really understood it. He doesn’t get my anxiety, because for him, he just plays through it.” He pauses. “I idolized him for a long time, and it kills me that I’ll never be as good as he was.”

            This is something Bitty understands very, very well, but he can’t help but to be confused. “Jack, you’re…you’re one of the best NHL players in the last decade. I mean…sure, maybe your dad was good and all, but you’re doing some crazy shit that’s like in the _record books_ good.”

            “He did more,” Jack says, and he sounds matter-of-fact.

            “But that doesn’t diminish what you’ve done.”

            Jack squeezes him. “This is one of those topics,” he says quietly, “where you won’t be able to win me over. I have always felt inferior to him and I always will. And that’s that.”

            Bitty lets it go, but doesn’t like the way Jack carries the stress of the phone call in his body. While the lasagna bakes, he makes sure that Jack sits close to him at the kitchen table while Bitty does his homework, and for every right answer he gets, Jack lets him have kisses. It’s a very good incentive to finish his homework early.

            They eat dinner, watch a movie ( _Jurassic Park_ is on, and perhaps the cutest thing Bitty has ever seen in his life is Jack knowing every line), and make love in that big master bed. After that, they shower—Jack gets Bitty off again, bless him—and they fall asleep. In the morning, Bitty takes a cab back to Samwell for class, then returns after to make dinner.

            It is probably the most perfect week he could ever conceive in his life, and even though Jack has an attitude problem halfway through about his shoulder and Bitty has to shut down that grumpy-train, he enjoys himself so much that when Jack has to leave for Montréal, Bitty tells him yes, he would maybe like to live with him, that would be very nice.

            Jack’s smile is so bright it _hurts_.

 

 

            Bitty doesn’t know much about sports besides football. Growing up in Georgia, Coach played football for UGA, and Bitty was required to know everything about the SEC and why the Florida Gators were the enemy. Despite being completely incompetent when it comes to _playing_ football, Bitty greatly enjoys going to the games. He likes baseball too—but mostly for the high socks.

            Hockey is a little different. He has found, over the course of their months together, that he _loves hockey_. He loves hockey in a way he didn’t know he could love a _thing_ , because he doesn’t feel this way about figure skating and never has. His favorite sound in the world is the buzzer when Jack gets a goal; his second favorite is the sharp _slap_ of the puck hitting Condon’s glove when he gets a save.

            Bitty truly loves hockey now. And so, when the Canadiens are shut out of the playoffs in the first round, he finds himself crying on the couch at Lardo’s and Shitty’s as he stares at the NBC coverage of the game, and they focus right in on Jack’s face as he fistbumps with his teammates, and Jack looks so disappointed but he’s smiling because he’s the captain, and Bitty can see him mouth _Good game_ and _Good season, you did good_.

            “There’s always next year,” Shitty tells him. “They can’t always win, Bits.”

            “I know. But he’s going to be crushed.”

            “For sure, no doubt. But he’s used to the game. He’ll move on before long.”

            Bitty keeps crying until the post-game interviews start, and then he cries harder because Jack is so brave and confident, congratulating his teammates for being so wonderful all year, and saying that the Red Wings simply played better. He doesn’t look upset, but Bitty knows that Jack has a Media Face that is bulletproof. Taking the time to wash his face and get himself under control, Bitty is able to bake half a dozen mini pies and two dozen maple cookies by the time Jack calls him.

            Bitty steels himself, answers the phone, and keeps his voice soft. “Hi, love.”

            “Hey.” Jack sounds like he has a cold, and Bitty’s heart constricts. Jack has clearly been crying.

            “My baby. Where are you right now?”

            “Waiting on the bus to go to the airport.” He sighs. “That was tough.”

            “I know it was. How’s the team?”

            “Disappointed, but handling it well. This year was good for us, and I think we have a lot of motivation for next year.” Jack pauses. “I already talked to my dad.”

            “Oh? How did that go?”

            “He knows the feeling, but I don’t really—I just wanted to talk to you.”

            Bitty whips his cream cheese frosting before carefully icing the cookies. “I’m here. Just baking you pies and cookies.”

            “Oh?” He sounds a bit cheered. “What kind of pies and cookies?”

            “I have three apple and three peach—mini pies, so your big mouth can probably eat one whole—and I found a recipe for frosted maple cookies I thought you’d like, so I did a couple dozen of those.”

            Jack makes a noise that sounds a little obscene. “Frosted maple cookies?”

            “Did that pique your interest?”

            “A lot of things you do pique my interest.”

            Bitty grins. “Aren’t you on a bus with your teammates?”

            “Yeah. Stop working me up.”

            “Me! I didn’t get all husky just now!”

            They banter back and forth until Jack says he has to go, but he’ll call once he’s back in Montréal. Bitty is a little disappointed that Jack has to go back to Montréal at all, but tells himself not to be greedy. He _does_ say, though, that the cookies won’t keep more than a week, and if Jack doesn’t want them wasted, he’d better figure out a plane ticket.

            “I’ve already got that planned,” Jack tells him. “I can be down in three days. I rented that house again.”

            Bitty has to stop himself from screaming in delight. They hang up and he’s in a _much_ better mood than he was before, the thought of spending most of the summer with Jack dominating his attention as he carefully frosts the remaining cookies.

  

            Bitty knows how great it is to spend time with Jack, of course, but without hockey…Jack is a slightly different person. Not unrecognizable by any means, but his routine changes and includes spending a lot of time swimming in the pool outside when Bitty’s in class, and doting on Bitty when he’s there.

            Jack’s appetite for anything Bitty has become _monstrous_ , and Bitty can’t get over how affectionate he’s been, as though Jack needs something to fixate on and when it’s not hockey, he turns his attentions elsewhere. Bitty finds he doesn’t mind at all, particularly because Jack is never underfoot and respects his need for studying time.

            But holy cow, the sex is _ah-may-zing_. Jack’s shoulder is perfectly healed, and he insists he still needs to keep it mobile, so of course he’s going to fuck Bitty against the shower wall, and then on the bed, and then bent over the couch.

            And _of course_ Jack’s going to let Bitty do the same to him, and each time Bitty gets Jack to make any noise at all, he considers it a triumph. All in all, what they have is _really good_.

            Then, shortly after his semester ends, Jack says something during dinner that makes Bitty run cold. “I think I’d like to tell my parents who you are to me, if that’s okay.”  
            He knew that would come at some point, eventually, but the thought of hockey god Bob Zimmermann knowing he exists as Jack’s boyfriend makes him nervous. “Oh?”

            “Yes. They’re worried about me because I’ve been away for so long, and I think my dad thinks I’m overusing my meds.”

            Bitty’s heart jerks and he reaches out for Jack’s hand. “Oh, God. Then yes, tell them. I don’t want them thinking—”

            Jack kisses his knuckles. “Hey, it’s okay. If they were really concerned they would’ve said something already, but I’d still like to tell them.” He pauses. “And Rashanna, too. If that’s okay.”

            Leaning into him, Bitty trails kisses along Jack’s gorgeous jaw. “I trust your judgment. You can tell anybody you want.”

            “Yeah?”

            Bitty thinks about the headline on NHL.com. _Hockey’s Biggest Star Comes Out_ — _New Beau is a Tiny Blonde Baker_. He takes a breath. “Yeah. But if you decide you want to tell, like, _the world_ , please let me know so I can have 911 on speed dial for Coach, because he’s going to have a heart attack.”

 

            Jack calls his parents after they finish dinner. He takes the call outside like he always does when he talks to his dad, and Bitty sits nervously on the couch and watches as Jack paces around the pool. When he comes back in, he’s smiling. “Want to do a video chat with my parents?”

            Bitty buries his face in his hands. “Oh my fucking God, I’m going to vomit. This is almost as bad as the first time I met you.”

            “Meeting me was bad?”

            “Don’t be a smartass, you threw up too.”

            “They’re nice people. Everyone that knows them likes them.”

            “They’re your parents.”

            “They could be your in-laws one day.”

            “ _Oh my God_.”

            Jack sets up his computer at the kitchen table, and he coaxes Bitty to pull a chair up next to him. Bitty’s leg jiggles nervously, but Jack doesn’t make him stop. Jack also has a tendency to have a jittery leg, especially when they’re about to fall asleep. Product of his anxiety, he says; he feels like he always needs to be moving.

            It takes a few minutes for the Zimmermanns to get set up on their end, and when Jack answers the video request (“Oh my fucking _God_ ,” Bitty groans), the two people on the screen look…perfectly pleasant. Jack is a dead fucking ringer for his dad, but he has his mom’s kind blue eyes.

            Jack says something in French, his parents nod because of course they understand him, and then he says, “Maman, Papa, this is Eric Bittle. Eric, my parents.”

            “Bonjour,” Mrs. Zimmermann says, giving a wave. She’s smiling very big. “Nice to meet you, Eric. I’m Alicia.”

            “Pleased to meet you, ma’am,” Bitty says, trying to tone down his accent so they don’t think he’s some dumbass redneck. “And you too, sir.”

            “Bob,” says the _hockey god who has Jack’s face_. His eyes are lined and he’s handsome as hell. “Jack tells us you’re at Samwell, eh?”

            “Yes, sir. Just finished up my junior year.”

            “He also says you bake,” Alicia says, and Bitty nods, twisting his hands together under the table where they can’t see.

            “Yes, ma’am. I’ve always loved it, ever since my Moo Maw taught me how.”

            Jack’s presence is warm next to his, and when Bitty chances a glance at him, he sees that Jack is grinning. The whole damn Zimmermann family is focused on Bitty, and Bitty feels very awkward. He still may throw up, once this is all done.

            “I remember hearing something about maple cookies,” Bob says, and he turns to Alicia. “Didn’t your grandma make maple cookies for the first time she met me? I could’ve sworn it was maple cookies.”

            “No, she made you whippets, because she wanted to impress you.”

            Bob looks at the screen again. “They were _awful_.”

            Bitty can’t help but to laugh. “I promise mine would probably be better. What are whippets?”

            “Oh dear,” Alicia says, and she’s smiling even wider than before. “Jack, you should tell him what whippets are. They’re Jack’s _favorite_.”

            Their conversation lasts only five or ten minutes, and as it wraps up, Alicia puts her arm around Bob’s shoulders. “Jack, we’re very glad that you’ve met someone. Eric, please know that you are always welcome at our home. Maybe for Christmas this year?”

 _He’s getting invited to the in-laws for Christmas_. “I’d love that, ma’am. As long as someone wraps me up in an electric blanket, I’d be happy to be in Canada for Christmas.”

            “Trust me,” she says, “the hot buttered rum flows freely, and we have electric blankets in every room.”

            “It’s a deal, then.”

            Once they’ve signed off, Bitty collapses against Jack. “Oh my God, I’m gonna puke.”

            “They like you,” Jack says, and his voice is soft, a little proprietary, and now his hands are sliding around Bitty’s waist and pulling him bodily into Jack’s lap. The way Jack can pick him up and toss him around will literally never get old. “They really like you. You were so charming. God, how.” His mouth is on Bitty’s throat, and he makes a small noise. “How? Wow.”

            “What did you tell them?”

            Jack’s preoccupied with getting Bitty’s shirt off, so Bitty has to ask twice. Even when he answers, Jack is still distracted. “When?”

            “Before you introduced us, you said something in French.”

            Jack grins. Bitty is certain that this carefree Jack is going to be dangerous. “I told them you were really nervous and that they needed to tone it down a little so they didn’t scare you off. They were excited to meet you.”

            “Jack! Oh my God! You did not!”

            “I did. Come here.”

            Bitty squirms and hems and haws, but he lets Jack coax him into a deep, full kiss, Jack’s thumbs pressing against his nipples, tugging lightly enough to make him whine. Bitty is consumed by him, and by the intensity with which Jack loves him. There’s something unhurried in the way he touches and teases, and Bitty tries several times to take more but Jack only stops him, holding his hands behind his back with one big hand around Bitty’s wrists, trailing fingers across Bitty’s flushed chest. Jack murmurs to him in French, little endearments he’s starting to recognize, and then Jack picks him up, Bitty’s legs around his waist, and carries him upstairs.

            After Jack makes love to him (and then fucks him, because dear God, there is not another word for it), Bitty is cooling off on top of the sheets and watching as the sky outside finally gets dark. Jack kisses lazily at his shoulder, and Bitty turns to him with very soft eyes.

            “I love you, Jack.” Saying it feels like a benediction, an admission, a promise, and a prayer. He feels the words as they come out, and when they’re out of his mouth and into the quiet space of breath between them, he is arrested by the conviction he feels. Yes, he loves Jack. He is in love with Jack. “I love you so, so much.”

            In that moment, Jack’s smile is the most beautiful thing Bitty has ever seen. Jack says it back into his shoulder, his neck, into his throat. He says it into his hair, the curve of his ear. He says it as he loops Bitty’s arms around his neck and rolls them over so Bitty is draped over his broad chest. He says it in French when he is, impossibly, hard again and slides inside Bitty, who is still worked open and slick from before. Bitty says it in French, too, trying out the words, and Jack’s head falls back with a sigh. Jack says it again and again and again, until Bitty doesn’t recognize the words as words anymore, but as simply a sensation. Jack’s voice, three syllables, and there’s a blooming in his heart. They say it to each other as they crest the weary hill of orgasm, pushing their bodies one final time before collapsing.

            Bitty can’t stop touching him. Jack looks utterly peaceful as Bitty kisses all along his face, ghosting across his ear, and when he coaxes Jack into the shower to rinse off, Jack lets himself be babied, Bitty washing his hair for him, and his body, then letting Jack do the same in return.

            “I’m going to want to marry you one day,” Jack murmurs to him, when they’re curled up in bed again in clean shirts and sleep shorts. Bitty’s heart feels like it can’t get any bigger, and then suddenly it does.

            “I’d say yes,” he says seriously, and Jack kisses the back of his neck before holding him closer. Bitty drifts off to sleep with Jack’s body warm and tight against his.

  

            Bitty tells his parents he’s doing something over the summer at school, and they don’t much question him except to say they want him to be home for the Fourth since he’s the family pie-baker and they’ll need his services because they do _not_ want Aunt Carol baking the pies, for the love of God. Bitty’s okay with that, and tells himself that’s his deadline; he’s going to tell his parents about Jack by then, so Jack can maybe come visit him at that time.

            Jack keeps the rental house through the summer after making a special agreement with the owners, and that’s where Bitty spends his time while Jack is doing his various events and functions across Canada for kids coping with anxiety and depression—his usual summer gig.. Finding a house in Boston is downright stupid, and even though Bitty had said he’s willing to help Jack out with finding a place, it proves to be a very taxing three weeks for them, as well as for Holly, their realtor. They picked her after she told them that she and her wife moved to Boston from Georgia because they were tired of the year-round heat. Bitty thinks she’s great. She also handles Jack’s temper tantrums well.

            “Listen,” Jack finally says, on day ten of in-person searching when they’ve stopped for coffee, because Bitty told him if he had to hear Jack complain one more time, _so help him God_ , he was going to need another coffee first. “I just want to close my eyes and pick one at this point. I don’t care. I just do not care anymore.”

            “Don’t listen to him,” Bitty tells Holly, who is as calm and cool as a peach. Bless her. “He’s insane.”

            Holly simply smiles. “This is a process that can sometimes take months. Most people don’t find their dream house in a couple of weeks.”

            “I don’t need a dream house,” Jack says, and that has been his argument for the last four days. “I just want something that has a kitchen and rooms in it so I can put my stuff somewhere. That’s it.”

            “For the love of Christ, Jack.” Bitty points at him with a biscotti. “If you had your way, you’d have gotten that apartment in downtown with all the noise that you will _hate_.”

            “You liked the kitchen!”

            “Oh my God! Kitchens can be renovated!”

            Holly seems to be hiding a laugh behind her hand. “When are you two getting married again?”

            “Maybe never,” Bitty says acidly, with both eyebrows raised at Jack (because he can’t do just one). Jack scowls and folds his arms across his chest.

            “Fine,” he says. “Then _you_ get to pick.”

            “I can’t do that! It’s _your_ house!”

            “I already have one. This one’s mostly for you, so you pick it. Because if you don’t, I’m taking the downtown apartment.”

            Bitty glares. Jack glares back. Finally Bitty sighs and leans back in his seat. “Fine. Holly, what was that blue Victorian one again? With the big porch?”

            The blue Victorian has been sold, but Holly has a few other ideas she thinks they’ll like. She takes them to the Back Bay neighborhood, and Bitty, once again, is enamored by the brownstones. He knows this is Boston and not New York, but it sort of reminds him of _You’ve Got Mail_ , which is hands down his favorite Meg Ryan movie. The brownstones look so… _picturesque_.

            As they walk down one of the streets, Bitty spots an empty shop between a coffee house and a yarn store. The shop is small but brightly lit inside, and doesn’t look like it’s been empty for long. He stops and stares at it. Something inside him rustles.

            “Eric?” Holly asks him, standing beside him and looking into the shop with him. “Are you wanting to live there? Not really the best, but…” Her smile is friendly and he snorts.

            “No, no. Not to live. It’s just kind of cute, isn’t it?”

            “It used to be a bead shop, I think.” Holly looks at the cross street. “Yeah, I think I came here maybe once or twice with Penny. It closed because the owner won the lottery, can you believe that? Prime real estate, too. A bit too expensive for a start-up, but I’m sure somebody will take it over as a second location. Probably for a bookstore.”

            Or a bakery.

            Bitty clears his throat and turns to look for Jack, who is across the street and petting a dog. The sight is funny; Jack on one knee, ruffling the fur of a gorgeous golden retriever. The owner, a young woman with red hair, takes a picture with Jack. Clearly he got recognized.

            “This happens all the time,” Bitty tells Holly, who laughs. They cross the street to Jack, and Bitty looks up at the brownstone in front of them.

            It looks like all the rest, with the black wrought iron gate and the concrete steps leading up to double-doors, but the doors have been painted a bright red. It’s the only thing that distinguishes it from the others, and Bitty’s heart skips when he sees the tiny _For Sale_ sign in the window.

            Bitty turns to say something to Holly, but she’s on her phone. “It’s listed,” she tells him, and he wonders if she reads minds. “Five stories, five bedrooms, six bathrooms. Kitchen has been recently renovated.” She tips her phone toward him. “Look.”

            There are a few things in Bitty’s life that have literally made his heart stop: The first time he landed an axel; his first kiss; Coach saying, after Bitty took gold at a state competition, _I’m proud of you_ ; getting his Samwell acceptance letter; Jack’s first response on the group chat— _Hi. I’m shy_.; the first time he heard Jack’s voice; when he realized who Jack was; seeing Jack’s face; touching Jack’s hair. There were a lot of things with Jack that have stopped his heart.

            The pictures of the inside of this house have stopped his heart. All clean lines, but retaining the elegant timelessness of old wood. A massive staircase right in the entryway. There’s a game room, a weight room, an updated washer and dryer.

            And then the kitchen, oh, _the kitchen_ , and the stainless steel and six burners and a double oven, and _marble countertops_ , and an absolutely massive island, oh, and there’s a built-in fridge, and everything is so _clean_ and the cabinets are eggshell-white—his _favorite_ —and oh.

            “Let me see something,” Holly says, and Bitty only nods because he can’t find words. She steps away and makes a call, and Jack comes up behind him, hand on his elbow.

            “Did you like the inside?” Jack says.

            Bitty hates, _hates_ getting his hopes up, so he simply shrugs. Asks, with a slightly tremulous voice, “Do you like the outside?”

            “I like that door,” Jack says, indicating the bright red paint. “It’s unique. And I really like the bricks—see how it’s a little more red than brown like the others?”

            “Yeah.”

            “Did she say there were five bedrooms?”

            Bitty nods and shoves hands in his shorts so Jack can’t see them shaking. “Yeah. There was a weight room, too.”

            Jack’s face gets all bright. “That would be really convenient.”

            Holly comes back to them with a smile. “If we wait half an hour, the seller’s agent, Praveen, can meet us here to show us around.”

            It is the longest half hour of Bitty’s life, but they spend it walking around the neighborhood and looking at what it has to offer. There’s a grocery store, several cute little antique shops, a specialty drug store, bookstore, woodshop, and a bike shop. The schools in the area are within walking distance, and are touted as some of the best in Boston. The people around are friendly, and some of them recognize Jack and stop him to ask for an autograph or to take a picture.

            When they come back around the block, there’s a gentleman waiting by the gate. He introduces himself as Praveen, and takes them inside, and Bitty stops in the doorway and simply stares.

            It’s better than the pictures. Everything is bright and open, and there’s so much _space_ for things. The house is still furnished currently, but he can imagine how it would look with things of Jack’s own taste (and his own). They’re shown to the first living area, then the formal dining, and then—oh God—the kitchen, where Bitty gapes at all the beautiful fixtures, the tiny details adding to convenience and ease of working in a kitchen. There are so many cabinets, and the pantry is absolutely massive.

            Though they see so much more of the beautiful house, Bitty has been sold by the kitchen alone, and everything else is icing on the cake, like the absolutely _stunning_ main master bedroom with Jacuzzi tub and walk-in shower with two shower heads, the _movie room_ , which features a projector and eight massive leather recliners, and—Jack’s favorite, probably—the weight room, which has sound-proofed walls and extra space for more machines.

            Bitty doesn’t realize he’s been asked a question when they’re back in the kitchen, because he’s inspecting the gorgeous gas burners. “Sorry, what was that?”

            “What do you think?” Holly says, and there’s something about her face that’s very kind in that moment.

            Bitty looks at Jack, but Jack is only waiting for his answer. So is Praveen, it seems.

            “It’s nice,” Bitty says.

            Jack knows, he has to know, because now he’s smiling, too. “Do you like this one best out of the others?”

            The listing said it’s five thousand square feet. That’s…a lot of space, if he’s going to be spending a good portion of time in it alone. “It’s really big.”

            “That’s the beauty of multiple floors,” Praveen says. “Really, most of what you need is on two floors, so that helps keep the size from feeling overwhelming.”

            “We could get a dog,” Jack says, and Bitty is very aware they are in the presence of two other people, and therefore he does not let his knees wobble him to the floor. Except Jack adds, “And if we ever want kids, we’d need—”

            “Don’t,” Bitty says, holding up a hand and turning his head. His eyes are burning. “Stop right there, don’t make me embarrass myself in front of these nice people.”

            It gets the laugh he wants, which takes some of the focus off of him. By the time he’s able to look like he’s _not_ about to burst into tears, Jack, Holly, and Praveen sit themselves at the island and start talking details.

            Bitty bites his lip. “So, wait, are we going through with this?”

            Jack looks up at him, head tilted. “Yeah. I thought we pretty much decided once we walked through the door.”

            “But do _you_ like it?” Bitty asks, because he’s not stupid—every penny of this is coming from Jack, and Bitty doesn’t want him to start doing things he doesn’t really want to do just because of Bitty. And if he’s going to get something like this, be _allowed_ something like this, Jack has to want it just as much if not more. Because Bitty cannot accept things easily, and if he's not convinced, he won't be able to go through with it. He  _has_ to know that Jack will be happy here too. 

            Jack looks around at the kitchen. “Well, yeah. The kitchen is nice and gives you some space, and I like the way everything’s kind of separated into its own room, you know? Like the movie room, that’ll be good for watching tape.” Bitty rolls his eyes fondly. “And I _really_ like the weight room. I never thought about how convenient that would be. The bedrooms are a good size too, and I think my mom would like the one that faces the street. Seems like a good neighborhood, and I like the quiet.” He smiles. “Is that good enough? Do you believe me?”

            Shocked with the conviction of it...Bitty believes him.

            The paperwork is complicated, but Holly says she’ll handle it. Because Jack is Jack, he doesn’t bother negotiating the price down, and instead agrees to what Praveen has offered. Bitty has to be ushered into the sitting area with a cold washcloth on the back of his neck when he sees how much it is. Eight figures. Eight figures for a house. For his house, for _their house_.

            Jack is buying a house that Bitty will live in, and one day Bitty will figure out a way to thank him for…

            He’s not sure for what. For being lonely the first time he logged onto the Saturday live chat? For being brave enough to let Bitty in? He didn’t have to. His life probably would’ve been easier without it. But Bitty can’t imagine, now, giving any of this up.

            “What do I do for you?” he asks, when they’ve parted ways from the realtors and are having dinner at a nearby Mexican restaurant. “You’re doing all of this for me. Which, by the way, I am going to be _sobbing_ over later. But what do I do for you?”

            Jack, bless him, takes the time to think on an answer while he looks over the menu. “Let me put it to you this way,” he says in his slow, thoughtful way. “Pretend that you are a person who has had severe anxiety ever since you were a kid. You have a lot of stress and responsibility, and you’ve needed to be mature from a young age because of who your dad is. You take medication to cope with your own issues, and it works, but it leaves everything sort of…muted. You are medicated to the point of being a robot, where every day is the same and nothing is going to change, and your biggest fear is that everything you’ve worked so hard toward will collapse. And one day, it does collapse. Because unless you take more medication, you can’t mute the loudness of your own voice in your head, and when your head is too loud, it’s not in the game. So you ruin everything and it takes a whole year to get it back again. After that, you work on other outlets for your loudness. You’re on a strict medication regiment, but you have access to therapists at all hours of the day, you eat better, and you’re able to focus more. But because you’re so focused, you sort of shut out the entire world. When you try to let someone in, it makes the loudness come back.

            “So now imagine,” Jack says, and here he looks up at Bitty, who is hanging on every word, “that when you see the world, everything is muted again, but that’s okay because at least _you_ aren’t muted, you’re doing okay. And one day, something brightens up that world, just a little bit. Just by being there. And the more you find out about this something, the brighter everything gets, but it doesn’t get louder. Just brighter. And more _worth it_ —everything is more worth it. Including the game you love. Including everything.” He shrugs, as though what he has said, the enormity of it, isn’t a big deal. “That’s what you are to me. You take everything and make it brighter but not louder. I like being around you, and I think you’re funny, and you keep me from…sinking into myself. From losing sight of the world around me.” He scratches the back of his head, huffing a laugh. “My mom says you’ve been a great influence. She said this is the first time in a long time she’s looked into my eyes and seen me really looking back and not just The Hockey Stare.”

            Bitty puts a hand to his heart and closes his eyes for a moment. He tries to catch his breath. “God, I love you, Jack. But I think I need to make it very clear that you can’t put me on some pedestal. I’m not going to save you from yourself. I can’t do that, nobody can.”

            Jack nods, leaning forward a little to keep their conversation private. “No, I know that. Sometimes you drive me nuts because where I focus too much, sometimes you’re just interested in _everything_. But it’s not wrong to want you by my side and keep you there, is it?”

            Bitty looks at him for one long, adoring moment. “No. It isn’t.”

 

            The conversation with his mother happens at the end of June, when he and Jack are waiting for the final inspection to go through on the house. Bitty does a video chat with her in the study of the rental place, and tells her that he’s secured one of the rooms in Lardo’s and Shitty’s house and won’t have to stay in the dorm for senior year. His palms are sweating the whole time, and Jack knows he’s thrown up at least once but Bitty hasn’t told him about the two other times the night before.

            “Mom,” he says, “there’s something I need to tell you.”

            His mother’s face, so like his own, loses its humor, and she grows as serious as he is. “What is it, sweetheart?”

 _I’m gay. Just say it. She probably knows anyway. You can say the words—I’m gay._ “Mom.”

            “Honey.”

            He swallows hard. The words are stuck somewhere in his chest and don’t want to come out. Instead, he starts crying. So does she.

            “I read an article online,” she says, “that said to wait for your child to come to you, to not push them or make them uncomfortable. I never knew when I could even…try to talk to you about it. You always seemed…I didn’t know what to say.”

            She knows. She knows, she knows, she knows. “I wanted to tell you for a long time.”

            “I waited for a long time.”

            She knows. “I’m scared of what Coach will say.”

            Wiping her eyes with her hand, she grimaces. “He’s…not the most open-minded.”

            Bitty lets out a slow, shaky breath. “I’m gay.”

            “I know. I love you, Dicky. So much.”

            “I love you too, Mom. So, so much. I wasn’t…hiding it from you, I just want you to know I didn’t deliberately…”

            She nods, and now she’s smiling a little. She looks…relieved. “Oh, I know, baby. I wish I would’ve made it easier for you to tell me when you were younger. I’ve felt…the last few years, I’ve worried I was losing you. I didn’t want that, but I didn’t know how to fix it.”

            “You can’t lose me,” he says. “I’m right here.”

            “I know. But I’ve barely seen you all summer, and I sort of wondered, um. Did—did you meet someone?”

            “Actually,” he says, and takes another breath, “yeah. I did.”

 

            Bitty gives her enough time to Google before he brings Jack onto the video chat. When she sees him, she slaps a hand to her mouth. “I’ve seen you on _SportsCenter_!” she says, flapping her hands the way Bitty does when he’s overexcited. “Oh my God, how embarrassed am I—Dicky, I told your father he had a cute butt. Oh my God, I can’t believe this.”

            Jack is shaking with laughter and Bitty is mortified. “ _Mother_ , you can’t _say_ that to people.”

“I don’t mind,” Jack says. “I get that a lot.”

            “I’m sure you _do_ ,” she says, and Bitty groans again.

            His mother takes to Jack immediately. They talk back and forth about hockey and golf—one of his mother’s personal favorite sports, and the sport that Bitty would vote off the planet if he had the opportunity—until there’s a sound in the background at his mother’s house and she turns to the side.

            “Coach is home,” she says, and there’s a look on her face that says she’s not sure what to do. Bitty’s apprehension jackknifes into the stratosphere. “Dicky, did you…would you like to talk to him?”

            He could say no. His mother is giving him an out, will probably make an easy excuse that Coach will buy. But Bitty has had enough of this fear. His father is the last part of himself he needs to conquer, and no matter how bad it will be, Bitty has Jack literally by his side.

            “Yeah,” Bitty says, “he can come say hi.”

            When Coach joins the video chat, Bitty feels a small sense inside him of pride. His dad is a good-looking man, big—unlike Bitty, who got his mother’s bird bones and dark eyes—but not huge. His hairline is receding a little, but his hazel eyes are as kind as ever. Coach is a good person, but he’s never been a good dad. “Hey there, Dicky,” he says warmly. “Who’s your—Jesus Christ, is that Jack Zimmermann?”

            Jack nods. “Hello, sir. Eric’s told me a lot about you.”

            Bitty sees the moment Coach has the thought in his brain. “Oh, well—how did—”

            “Jack and I met back in December,” Bitty says, because it’s true, it was the first time Jack typed to him. “He’s the one that got me the tickets to the Bruins games.”

            “Damn good seats,” Coach says, and something in his expression is wary but still polite. “How did you—meet?”

            His mother fidgets and bites her lip.

            Bitty takes a breath. “We met through a mutual friend,” he says, which isn’t a lie, because the internet is definitely his friend. “Coach, Jack is my boyfriend.”

            There’s a very long silence. Coach looks at Mom, and Mom looks back at Coach. Then Coach looks at Jack. Then Bitty. Then Jack again.

            “I can get you some good seats for the Thrashers games,” Jack says, and just like that the awkwardness is broken. Coach smiles. Says thank you. Talks to Jack about the last game against Detroit, that was a _helluva game, Jack_. Jack, who has been reading up on SEC teams, says he really hopes the Bulldogs get back into it soon.

            It doesn’t take Bitty long to realize that if Jack were anyone other than Jack Zimmermann, captain of the Montréal Canadiens, this would have gone very differently. If Bitty had fallen in love with a college boy of unknown origin, Coach would not be behaving like this. Coach would be furious. But because Bitty has been chosen by Jack Zimmermann, a Real Boy, a Famous Boy, Coach is handling this a lot better than Bitty had hoped.

            Still, it makes Bitty sad inside, and a little empty. He doesn’t contribute to the conversation much, and when Coach is the one to invite Jack down for the Fourth, Bitty gets up and heads to the kitchen to clear his head.

            Jack joins him a few minutes later, putting arms around him from behind but saying nothing. Bitty appreciates the silence, because he doesn’t have words for what he’s feeling inside, this sense that a part of him has left his body and may never return. He doesn’t know why he’s so hurt, and so angry, because Coach is taking this well. Bitty didn’t _want_ him to yell and scream and call him names. So why is he so upset?

            That night, Bitty gets special, tender treatment he’s not sure he deserves. He’s curled in Jack’s big arms while Jack finds a movie for them to watch. He settles on _Moulin Rouge!_ , which he knows is one of Bitty’s favorites ever, and when Bitty cries into Jack’s shirt, Jack only rubs his back and lets him. Bitty forces himself to let go of his jealousy. Of course Coach will like Jack better, but that doesn’t mean that Bitty is worthless. Jack likes him best out of anyone anyway, and so do Mr. and Mrs. Zimmermann, and so does his mom.

            “Just a warning,” Bitty says, when the movie is over, “I don’t think my dad actually believes us.”

            “What? What do you mean?”

            “He’s got a streak of denial in him a mile wide. I don’t think he _actually_ believes that we’re together. He’s going to tell himself we’re just friends until he believes it.”

            Jack frowns. “But we’re not. I mean, we are, but that’s not all we are.” He pauses, and something in his voice sounds abrupt. “He doesn’t have the right to erase you like that.”

            “It’s the only way he can love me,” Bitty says, and the truth of the words hurt so bad in his chest that he has to hold his breath against the pain. “So I just want you to understand what this trip is going to be like.”

            Jack is completely silent. If Bitty didn’t have his head on Jack’s chest, he wouldn’t know that Jack’s heart is racing, wouldn’t be able to hear the shaky breaths that come in and out. “We have a few ways we can handle this,” Jack says calmly, and it’s the way Bitty knows he is anything but calm. “I _am_ your boyfriend. I am very proud to be your boyfriend, because you are an amazing human being and I am just a lucky guy. So if you want him to really know who you are, I am perfectly fine behaving like an actual boyfriend.”

            “What…does that mean, exactly?”

            Jack kisses him deeply. _Oh_. Right. That’s what it means. “I don’t know about that,” Bitty says, once he’s been a little distracted. “Jack, we’re going to be in small-town Georgia. I don’t think you understand what that means.”

            “I’m Jack Zimmermann.”

            “And I’m Coach Bittle’s son. He’s not going to want…people to know his son is…”

            “Gay.”

            Jack can say the word. Bitty should be able to as well. He shouldn’t feel shame well up in him, because he has nothing to be ashamed of. It’s what he’s told Lardo and Shitty, it’s what he’s told everyone at Samwell. It’s what he’s tried to tell himself. But Bitty has this awful block when it comes to his dad, and all he wants is for his dad to be proud of him all the time, not just when he does something good with sports. Not just because he’s dating a hockey legend. That’s not fair to Bitty, and Bitty tells himself he deserves more.

            “Let me think about it,” Bitty says.

 

            In the end, they make a compromise. Jack is a (famous) friend visiting over the Fourth of July and spends a lot of time with Coach and all the men in the family. They all completely adore him, and are shockingly respectful when Jack turns down offers of Uncle Ricky’s Homemade Moonshine. Jack is good with the little cousins, who take turns riding on his shoulders, and when Bitty is inside with his mother and his aunts talking about baking, Jack comes in and entertains them too. He charms everyone. He charms Bitty even more, and Bitty had no idea that was possible.

            The three-day trip is stressful, but Bitty manages to put on a smile and start to enjoy himself a bit. When it’s just Coach and Mom on the fifth, though, Jack turns the Boyfriend Mode Dial up to like a three. He helps Bitty in the kitchen, and once Mom catches Jack kissing Bitty on the temple as they make whippets together. When Bitty shoots a look at her, worried what she’ll think, he only sees her smiling at them with watery eyes.

            Then she helps them with the whippets and asks Jack to kiss her, too. He obliges.

            After dinner, they all watch _SportsCenter_ in the living room, and Jack sits with his arm around Bitty, and Bitty can see, out the corner of his eye, Coach watching them. Coach seems confused. Bitty realizes he was very much right. Coach had convinced himself that everything Bitty said on video isn’t true, and Jack Zimmermann is just Bitty’s very good friend.

            “Jack, when are you going back to Montréal?” Mom asks, looking through a new recipe book and marking the ones she likes, as she always does during _SportsCenter_ when they talk about basketball.

            “Tomorrow,” he says, pulling his arm away from Bitty’s shoulder so he can twine their fingers together, their curled hands resting on his knee. Coach’s eyes are sharp. “I’m doing a seminar with high school seniors about healthy ways to handle stress. Then I’m off to the University of Winnipeg after that to talk to student athletes.”

            “That sounds amazing,” Mom says, giving him a big smile. “You’re doing so much good, Jack.”

            “I’m trying. I had it really lucky, and I know a lot of kids don’t get the help I had. So my summers are usually pretty busy with things like that.”

            “Yet you made time to come see us,” Coach says, and he sounds friendly but there’s something in his tone that makes Bitty’s stomach hurt.

            Jack nods, giving Coach a very level look and no smile. “I wanted to meet Eric’s family. He talks a lot about you guys, and seeing as how I intend to be around for a long time, I wanted to start getting to know you.”

            There’s a pause. One thing Bitty has never understood about men is the way they…posture around one another. Jack is posturing with his father, and there’s something so _weird_ about it. They’re both being polite—Canadians and Southerners, after all—but there’s definitely something threatening underneath the words.

            “It’s always good to meet Dicky’s friends,” Coach says, and Bitty closes his eyes.

            “Oh, so you’ve met Lardo and Shitty?” Jack asks.

            There’s another silence.

            “And you as well,” Coach says.

            A pause. Jack’s hand tightens on Bitty’s, and he knows Jack is pissed. But his voice, when he speaks, is its usual calm monotone. “Thank you. I appreciate you having me here. My parents have invited Eric to visit over Christmas. They just bought a house right outside of Montréal. With the pictures my mom sent, I figured it would be a nice place to hold the wedding.”

            Kenny Mayne is talking about the Broncos on the TV, but the silence in the living room is _so thick_ Bitty can’t even breathe.

            “Wedding?” Coach says, and Bitty doesn’t _dare_ look at him, he can practically feel his disapproval from here.

            “I haven’t proposed yet,” Jack says mildly, “but it’s something we’ve talked about. We’ll work it out once we get there.”

            Coach gets up from his recliner and leaves the room. Mom is rubbing at her face.

            “Well,” she says, “that was interesting.”

            Jack’s tone changes completely. “I probably shouldn’t have said that,” he murmurs, and he sounds so unsure that Bitty squeezes his hand and looks at him. “I was just so _mad_. He—he needs to understand that—”

            “He won’t,” Bitty says. “But that’s okay. I wouldn’t change anything, I really wouldn’t.”

            “I’m invited to the wedding, right?” Mom says, and Bitty finally lets himself cry.

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here it is--the end of this fic. Chapter 5 is the final chapter, then there's an epilogue, then a dorky outtake I worked on because I felt so bad about chapter 5 and the epilogue being so short. I'm posting early because I'm so nervous about it so I figured I'd just get it out of my system!
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has been so incredibly, unexpectedly kind to me, and who has enjoyed this fic. I have enjoyed writing it for you, and I hope to write more in the future.
> 
> You can check me out on tumblr and Twitter as well (both under marswithghosts). My Twitter is locked, but I will gladly approve you and follow back. :)

            In late July, three weeks before Samwell classes start, Jack and Eric move into their new house. It’s so empty it feels incredibly surreal, like walking into something abandoned, but the paint is fresh on the walls from the family company Jack found in the area, and everything smells very clean and new. They spent hours ordering furniture a week before, and today is the delivery day. Soon, they will be able to fill this home with things that are _theirs_. Jack’s only keeping his Montréal apartment because he needs it during the season.

            They come to easy agreements on just about everything regarding furniture, paint, and decorations, because Jack is easygoing and likes simple, comfortable things, and Eric likes it when things match. So getting sets is what they do, Jack waving off Eric each time Eric starts to complain that something is too expensive.

            “I can’t believe this is ours,” Eric says, standing in the kitchen and looking at his oven. Jack is filling the drawers with the kitchenware they’d had delivered that morning, making sure everything is neat and orderly the way Eric likes it.

            “I know. I’m really excited to see what it’s going to look like with the rugs and the furniture and stuff.” He sighs. “And sleeping in our own bed tonight. That will be nice.”

            Eric hops up on the counter and Jack gets distracted by his long, tanned legs. Eric has done a lot of swimming in the rental house pool and he’s all golden and freckled and _perfect_. “Just sucks that I start class next week.”

            “Technically you’re just going to lectures. You have two weeks before you actually start.”

            “But you’re going to be in Toronto all next week and that makes me sad. My last chance with you before school.”

            Jack finishes with the kitchenware and slides over to him to give him a long, deep kiss. “But after that, I’ll be back until pre-season. So you’ll pretty much have me for about five weeks solid.”

            Each time he says it, Eric perks up a bit more. “That’s a pretty good amount of time, I think.”

            “I think so too.” It’s only when he pulls away, looking at Eric’s sweet, round face, that he decides yes, he’s going to tell Eric what he and the assistant general manager discussed last week. “How would you feel if I came out?”

            Eric snorts. “Nothing could be worse than my dad, so I’m actually totally fine with it.”

            “Your dad has been…okay.” He winces. Eric’s dad has spoken to him, Jack, about what he thinks the Habs’ chances are for the upcoming season, but he hasn’t yet spoken to his own son since that disastrous trip in July. “Let’s not think about that, okay? I’m serious. What would you think?”

            “It scares me, if I’m being honest. Because I worry for your safety, and I’m…still not sure I’m as prepared for the spotlight as you are, you know? I personally don’t know how I’d handle something like that. But other than that…I think it’s good. I want you to do what you feel is right, you know? And I think about how…” He pauses. “I think about how I might’ve felt when I was younger, having someone like you as a role model. And if I think about all the boys and girls out there who feel like they don’t fit in, or are afraid that if they came out they won’t be successful…I don’t know. It makes me so sad inside for all those kids, and I think you could be such a big help to them.”

            Jack kisses him along his jaw for a moment. “Our assistant GM, Georgia Martin, talked to me last week. She said she didn’t expect me to confirm or deny anything, but she wanted me to know that if I were perhaps dating a very cute blonde young man, that she would make sure the organization had my back if I decided to…be out with it.”

            Eric’s fingers are soft in the hair at the nape of his neck. “So we’ve been spotted.”

            “I knew it would happen eventually, but nobody’s approached me directly about it yet.”

            “Do you want to be out?”

            Jack thinks about that for a long moment. “I feel like…part of me feels like I have an obligation to be. To show kids that I am normal, and that I haven’t changed, and that I am happy. That you can be happy in a relationship like this and still be successful.” He rests his chin on Eric’s narrow shoulder. “Georgia thinks I’m a good candidate for being out. I’m already quiet and private, I’m one of the best athletes in the game, and I handle the media well. I think her only real concern was you.”

            “Me?”

            “How you’d take it. Because you _will_ get asked questions, once you’re recognized. And sometimes people’s questions can be very rude or extremely personal. I know how to respond to those types of things, but you’ve never had to. It can be…really stressful.”

            Eric’s mouth moves absently against Jack’s neck while he thinks. “The Habs obviously have a PR team, right?”

            “Well, yeah.”

            “I’m assuming you’d work closely with them on how to get this out in the open.”

            “Definitely, yeah. We want it to be on our terms.”

            “Could they maybe help me the way they’ve helped you? Prepare for those questions, learn what to say and when to say it, that kind of thing? I don’t…” Jack can literally feel the tension building in Eric’s lithe body. “I don’t want to embarrass you or anything.”

            Jack holds him closer, sliding his hands up the sides of Eric’s bare thighs, slipping just under his plaid shorts. “You wouldn’t embarrass me, but I don’t want you to feel embarrassed. I’m sure they’d love to help you be more comfortable with the questions, and preparing you for what you might be asked and what kinds of things you can say. Want me—should I talk to Georgia?”

            Eric curls his fingers around Jack’s wrists, not pushing him away but holding him still. When he meets Eric’s dark eyes, he’s floored, again, by how long his lashes are. “My dad already knows. That’s probably the thing that really, genuinely scared me the most. We’re in a good, tolerant, and friendly neighborhood here, and my school is incredibly LGBT-friendly. I’m okay with this, Jack, as long as you are.”

            He is. They spend the day getting furniture moved in and placed, and Eric washes all the sheets before making the beds. Most of what they do is helping the movers get everything situated and supplying them with tools when there are too many things to put together and not enough toolkits to go around. Then, around ten when they’re settling in for the night, Jack texts Georgia. _We’re in. Tell us what comes next._

            Then he puts his phone away and reaches for Eric, who comes into his arms easily, accepting Jack’s offer of a kiss, and when Eric puts his hands to use, Jack makes soft noises that spur Eric on until Eric has Jack’s cock in his mouth and a slick finger in his ass, and when Jack comes it’s with a shout, his spine arching, biting his fist.

            Eric slides into him easily, and Jack grows louder with each smooth thrust of Eric’s hips. After a long, slow fucking, where Eric pushes himself to the brink, stops, and starts again, he comes in Jack with his cock pulsing in time with the rapid heartbeat Jack can feel with his palm on Eric’s chest. Now Eric is the silent one, overwhelmed and flushed pink and sweating, and when Jack gathers him close Eric gives himself over so completely, the _I love you, I love you, I love you_ falling from his lips.

 

            ‘What comes next’ is Georgia flying in the next day and meeting with them at the house. She’s pleased when she starts talking to Eric, asking him where he’s from, what he’s doing in school, how he and Jack met. Jack simply says they met through friends, and Georgia says that they should probably be a little more concrete about that, because Jack doesn’t exactly have friends.

            “Some people could question that,” Georgia says, “and the false accusations they come up with could be a lot worse than the truth. So if you met through friends, who and how?”

            “Will people really ask that?” Eric asks, putting some of his most recent ginger cookies on a plate and pouring iced tea. (Jack does _not_ drink iced tea, but he thinks Georgia will).

            “People think they are entitled to everything,” Georgia tells him seriously. “Yes, they will ask that and probably more.”

            So officially, Jack and Eric met through Lardo, who had gone to one of Jack’s seminars the summer before (a truth). Jack and Lardo became friends (also a truth) and that’s how Jack met Eric. They began talking regularly in December, and officially got together on Valentine’s Day (definitely a truth).

            “Next,” Georgia says, after she’s had three of Eric’s cookies and gushed about them extensively, “we need to figure out when and how we’re doing this. My recommendation is pre-season; let the vultures get it out of their system so it won’t be a distraction. The team comes first—all of management, then our coaches. Therrien will have meetings with the others. Then the team. Therrien will be there with you and will show support. Please keep in mind, Jack, that not all of your teammates may be supportive in private, but I am confident that they will be in public. Our tagline will be about solidarity—having your teammate’s back on and off the ice, promoting a healthy environment, that sort of thing.”

            “What about the fans?” Eric asks, taking a seat after getting himself some iced tea and pouring water for Jack. “I don’t want Jack getting…harassed.”

            “He will be,” Georgia says evenly, with a shrug. “There’s no doubt about it. Most likely, however, it won’t come from the Habs fans. They adore Jack. He is as beloved as hockey itself. They’ll roll with him on this, but the opposing teams will have a field day.”

            Jack puts a hand to Eric’s back when Eric puts his face in his hands. “You okay?”

            “No, I’m not. Now I’m worrying about you more than before.”

            “He’ll be okay,” Georgia reassures him. “I doubt it’ll be much worse than what Jack went through when he had his breakdown, honestly. Besides, we have a lot of people on staff trained to deal with violent altercations, and I intend to alert all the GMs of each team that the Habs will not tolerate intolerance.” She pauses. “Eric, I need _you_ to be prepared for this. To understand that Jack is going to get belittled by the opposing team, and you may as well. Certain reactions are either going to help or hinder.”

            Eric raises his eyebrows at her, and he smiles a little crookedly. “So I guess throwing haymakers is out of the question.”

            Georgia laughs as she snaps a cookie in half and splits it with him. “Yes, exactly. Focus on what we’re promoting. Solidarity. Family. Tolerance. If you think you’re going to be angry or upset and do something you’re going to regret, remove yourself from the situation. Talk about acceptance, turning the other cheek. That sort of thing. You are a _very_ likable person, so honestly I think you probably won’t get the brunt of it because you’re not an obvious target. You look like a good southern boy, and you have impeccable manners.”

            “Aw, shucks.”

            “And for you,” Georgia says, turning to Jack, “I just want to make sure you’re really ready for this.”

            “I am,” Jack says, then chews on his lip. “When I marry him, I don’t want to keep that a secret. And I want to do this on my own terms instead of rumors starting.”

            “I agree.” Georgia leans forward and looks at them both with her dark eyes. “And your parents know?”

            They nod.

            “I think you should tell them that you are going to be coming out. They may want to be the ones to tell certain family members and friends instead of finding out about it on _SportsCenter_.”

            “Eric,” Jack says, because he knows what Eric must be thinking right now. That Eric once said his father will not want people to know that Coach Bittle’s son is gay.

            Eric simply looks at him. There’s something fiery in his eyes, and a set to his jaw that gets Jack’s blood hot. “No, we’re doing this. Fuck my dad and what he thinks I need to be. It’s time for him to accept the son he’s got instead of the one he thinks he should’ve had. I’m a good fucking person.”

            “Amen,” Georgia says, and she steals one more cookie from the plate.

 

            Jack comes out in a pre-season interview to a room full of reporters, and it’s so seamless, with all the preparation that they’ve done, that Jack wonders why he was so nervous before. The reporters are respectful, for the most part, and the ones that aren’t get absolutely _destroyed_ by the others. Jack knows that discussions of sexuality and equality are a hot topic, and it seems to be the hip thing to support him. He’s fine with that. It makes life easier.

            Two teammates, in particular, are supportive, and it’s a surprise because they’re new to the team this year as rookies—Adam Birkholtz and Justin Oluransi. They take it upon themselves to protect Jack whenever they can, and as a thank you, Jack gets them some of Eric’s mini pies. They enjoy them so much that Jack even invites them over for dinner the day before the first Boston game, and when Eric extends his hand in a greeting, Birkholtz and Oluransi pick him up in bear hugs in turn.

            Eric goes to class and stays at Samwell during the week, and he, Lardo, and Shitty stay at the Boston brownstone on the weekends, where they help him pick out more decorations (Lardo gives them several paintings she’s done for class projects), take care of the house, and fend off nosy reporters.

            “Have the neighbors been okay?” Jack asks during a phone call one afternoon, when he’s heading to the airport to fly to New York.

            “They’ve been great!” Eric says, and he sounds genuinely cheerful. “Like, really, genuinely great. Whenever I take out the trash, someone always tells me how much they support us, and how they think what we’re doing is really good for hockey and sports in general.” He sighs. “I’m still bummed that the shop across the street was bought, but nobody’s done anything with it yet. Do you think I can steal it?”

            Jack laughs. “I am pretty sure that is not going to be allowed. We’ll find you another shop, don’t worry.”

            “But that one would’ve been _across the street_.”

            “Who knows,” Jack says. “Anything could happen.”

 

            The second Eric is shown with Jack, hand in hand, in the Boston airport in November, the picture goes viral and now pretty much everyone in the hockeysphere knows who Eric Bittle is. He is most often referred to on the internet as CAT—Charming, Attractive, and Tiny. He has an entire tumblr dedicated to him, and when Eric starts interacting with the fans, he becomes even more popular.

            Under the careful supervision of the Habs PR Team, Eric starts a Twitter account that amasses ten thousand followers in forty-eight hours. Typically he tweets about school, baking, what to do with his future, and general hockey, but when he does tweet about Jack (which he does more and more as time goes on), those tweets end up getting retweeted so much that Eric’s phone shut down once when he tried to open his app. ( _How many hockey players does it take to complain about too many sticks of butter in the fridge? One, and his name is #jackzimmermann_ and _Lord give me the strength to not hit this man over the head with a frying pan, amen._ )

            Jack does not have a Twitter and never will, but sometimes he lets Eric put pictures of him there (“Check with PR first, okay?”), or answers questions from the twitter himself, and Jack’s reputation as this laser-focused hockey robot is slowly being undone. Instead, with each picture of Jack laughing, or trying to bake, or working out, or things like the six-second video of Jack asking Bitty what Snapchat is and not understanding how it works, Jack becomes so popular that his jerseys are sold out just about everywhere online, and he gets less and less bad attention even in rival cities. People love him.

            Jack has, he realizes one night in Ottawa, become a celebrity _outside of hockey_.

            And back on the plane, going to Montréal, he realizes that Eric has _also_ become a celebrity. He has one of the fastest growing, most popular Twitter accounts, and it seems people pay attention to him even when he’s _not_ talking about Jack. Even when he’s just complaining about class and being his usual charming, energetic self.

            Life is strange, but Jack won’t have it any other way.

  

            He gets five days over Christmas in Montréal with his parents and Eric, and that is a _much_ better trip than when Jack was in Georgia in July. His mother and father have been vocally supportive of both of them, and make sure that they are seen arriving to Habs games with Eric and sitting with him in the players’ family section. But their enthusiasm isn’t faked at all—they love Eric, especially Jack’s dad, who gets excited when Eric says he’d like to learn to shoot pool because nobody else in the family will shoot with him due to his highly competitive nature.

            While his father and Eric are playing pool together, Jack helps his mother cook dinner.

            “He is so sweet,” she tells him in French. “He is just such a good person, Jack. He’s handled all of this so well, and I can tell how much he cares about you.”

            “He loves me,” Jack says, smiling as he chops onions.

            She chuckles as she stirs the white wine sauce. “Oh, that is certainly true. And the two of you really _work_ together as a unit, you know? You have realistic expectations for one another, and I think that’s the most important part of making a marriage work. Especially when one of the two is a professional athlete.” She nudges him with her hip. “What’s he doing after he graduates?”

            “Well,” Jack says slowly, “I know what he thinks he’s probably going to be doing, which is looking for a job.”

            “Oh, that’s right! I can’t believe I forgot about the shop. I blame all the wine. He hasn’t figured it out yet?”

            “Well, _no_ , because that’s his Christmas gift.”

            Eric comes into the kitchen then for some water, giving the two of them a look. “I _really_ need to learn French.”

            “If you learn French, you’ll know we’re talking about you,” Maman says, and she gives Eric a wink. He just rolls his eyes and steals a mushroom from her pile before darting back to the pool game, where Jack can hear his father hollering his triumph in a mix of English and French, followed by Eric calling him a cheater and demanding a rematch. Jack looks at his mother, and she looks back at him. They snort and continue making dinner.

 

            After they eat, they share presents, Eric delighted by the Zimmermanns’ new kitten and getting repeatedly distracted by her. Jack gives his mother a pretty moonstone necklace, and his father some crystal scotch glasses. Eric hands Maman a southern cookbook and a decorative box he made himself; inside are handwritten recipes for all of his pies, and she says this is the best gift he could’ve given her. Eric gives Papa a UGA jersey, since Papa had expressed interest in learning more about football. He puts the jersey on immediately and stands to get more wine.

            “I’ll help him,” Maman says, and Jack watches them go, brows drawn together.

            “I didn’t realize it took two people to get wine,” Jack says, and that’s when he notices that Eric has moved to the tree in the corner of the living room and brought a small box over.

            A very small, square box. Unwrapped, made of navy velvet.

            “So,” Eric says, and he looks nervous and flushed, and in the soft light of the Christmas tree, his white cashmere sweater is dotted with green and red. He gets down on one knee. “So,” Eric says again, and Jack suddenly understands what is actually happening. “It took a while to find something I really liked,” Eric is saying, and Jack is having a hard time breathing with his blood rushing in his ears like this. “I looked, like, pretty much everywhere, but I finally found this.”

            And he opens the little box. Inside is a ring, solid, burnished black, inlaid with a small diamond. Eric takes it out and shows Jack the inscription on the inside— _Hi. I’m shy._

            “I wrote a speech,” Eric says quietly. “I had it all planned out. It was very mushy, but I have forgotten every single word, I’m so nervous, so. I’m just going to ask. Will you marry me?”

            Jack nods. He swallows, nods again. Opens his mouth to speak, then nods a third time. “Yes,” he finally gets out, and Eric manages to slide the ring onto his shaking finger. “I thought,” he says, and gathers Eric close when Eric stands again, “that I’d be the one to do that.”

            “I wanted to beat you to the punch,” Eric laughs, arms wrapped around Jack’s neck. “Besides, I’m the short one, everyone’s going to expect you to propose to me. Look at me, breaking the stereotypes.”

            Jack shuts him up with kisses, and it takes a while before Maman and Papa come back.

            “Oh good,” Maman says, when she sees the ring on Jack’s finger. “I was hoping you’d say yes.”

            Jack groans and puts a hand to his face. “Did you two know about this?”

            “Obviously,” Papa says, refilling their wine. “Eric came to us first.”

            Jack stares at Eric. Eric shrugs. “I’m a good southern boy. Of course I asked permission.”

            After a few minutes of discussing the proposal, and the fact that Eric forgot all the words to his speech (“Eric! Mon chéri! We practiced it a dozen times!” “I’m sorry, Maman! I got all nervous!”), Jack hands his own present to Eric.

            It is also a small box, but flatter and longer than the ring box, and wrapped. Eric unwraps it, opens the box, and pulls out a brass key. He tilts his head. “Um…is this, like, a key to your apartment or something? Because I already have one of those…”

            Jack only smiles, pulling out the piece of paper underneath the key, unfolding it, and spreading it out so Eric can read it. Jack simply waits. Eric’s hand flies to his mouth and he nearly chokes on air. “Oh my God, this can’t be—”

            “I bought it in July,” Jack tells him. “I figured with some nice renovations, it has enough space for maybe ten round two-seater tables, definitely a counter, and a really good, well-equipped kitchen. I was also thinking about potentially talking to the coffee shop about, like, pie and coffee days or something. Each of you could benefit and share business together.”

            “You bought me,” Eric says, and then he can’t continue. He’s staring at the paper.

            “That little empty shop across the street,” Jack says.

            “I wondered why nobody had moved in,” Eric says, and tears flow freely down his cheeks. Eric sometimes has a hard time processing intense emotions, so Jack knows he’s going to get on and off crying for several days, whenever Eric lets himself think about what Jack has done.

            “And our gift,” Maman says, “is a loan for the renovations once you’ve graduated, and enough to start the shop.”

            “I’m excited for Bitty’s Bakery,” Papa says, and Jack loves the smile on his face and the way it’s directed first at Eric, and then at himself. “It’ll fit in great with the neighborhood.”

            Eric hugs them both so tight and so hard that Jack feels his throat seize up. When Eric turns to him and reaches for him, Jack gathers him close and whispers his love into Eric’s neck.


	6. Epilogue: Fourteen Years Later

            Jack fills in the weekly schedule on the chalkboard by the front door. Monday is for Catalina’s therapy with Yesenia, plus Spanish lessons down at the antique shop, as well as Lola’s first ballet recital of the year. Then Tuesday is Catalina’s hockey practice, Lola’s therapy with Yesenia, and a trip to the animal shelter for their first dog since Murdoch had to be put to sleep nearly three years ago.

            He’s just getting to Wednesday when the front door opens and Eric steps in with Lola at his heels. Jack gets down on one knee to greet her with a smile, getting her attention before signing, _How was the park?_

            She flaps her hands the way Eric does before launching herself at him, and he laughs, one hand cupped at the back of her head, where her braid is messy and coming undone.

            “She had a little too much fun,” Eric says, hanging his coat in the closet. “Where’s Catalina?”

            “In here,” she calls, and Jack scoops up Lola and follows Eric into the kitchen, where Catalina is doing her homework at the island. “I hate math.”

            “Lord, I hated it too,” Eric says, pulling flour out of the pantry. “Do you want to take a break and help me bake? Si vamos a cocinar, también vamos a practicar nuestro español.”

            “Ugh, Dad,” Catalina says, putting her face in her hands. “I didn’t know you’d take it so seriously.”

            “You started this,” Jack reminds her, setting Lola down on the counter and asking her if she wants something to drink. “You should’ve known what you were getting into with him.”

            “All I said was I wanted to know more about my heritage.”

            “And that’s exactly what we’re doing. Come on, we’re making polvorones de canele. Marisol’s best recipe.”

            _I want to help_ , Lola says, accepting a juice box from Jack.

            _How about we learn to measure flour?_ Eric asks her. _We can practice our fractions_.

            While Eric and the girls start cookies, Jack checks his voicemails and missed calls—when he works out, he usually leaves his phone in another room out of long-running habit. There’s one message from the adoption center, letting them know that Catalina’s and Lola’s birth mother has asked for another visit with them. The last two went exceptionally well, and Jack confirms with the girls that they want to see her before he calls the agency and lets them know that a visit would be fine, and they can work out a weekend with the MCI-Framingham correctional facility. He also asks Catalina if she’d be comfortable telling Yesenia about this.

            “Well, yeah,” Catalina says. “I tell her everything.”

            “I know you do, I just wanted to check before I said anything to her.”

            Catalina rolls her eyes. “You two are, like, really weird as parents, you know that? Literally no other parents in the world are like you guys.”

            Eric hip checks her with a laugh. “We are extremely open and understanding. We kind of had to be.”

            “Plus we took classes,” Jack points out. “On how not to suck as parents.”

            _When are we getting a puppy?_ Lola asks, her hands covered in flour. Jack cleans her up before saying, _On Tuesday, after therapy. Are you excited?_

            _Yes!_ She tugs on Catalina’s arm. _What kind of dog do you want?_

            “A cute one,” Catalina says, slowly so Lola can read her lips. She’s getting better at it.

            _Our dog will be cute no matter what_.

            “What do you want to name it?”

            _Lardo!_

            “I’m texting her that,” Eric says immediately, touching Lola on the arm. _Can you measure the cinnamon and put it in the bowl? Half a teaspoon?_ “I’ll be right back!”

            Jack finishes with his voicemails, calling his parents back and letting them know he knows about the special on later and they’ll be ready to watch it. Catalina was old enough to remember when he still played hockey, but Lola wasn’t, and she always asks him about it and begs to watch his videos. The hour-long special about his career will be something she’ll quite enjoy.

            Jack and Catalina work quietly to put the cookies together, following Eric’s recipe.

            “I love you,” she says suddenly, without looking up at him. Her hair, long and black, is in its usual ponytail.

            “I love you too,” he says, and doesn’t ask where that came from, because Catalina has intense mood swings and he works hard at not questioning her when she’s being affectionate as he doesn’t want her to feel like she has to stop or that her behavior is unique. Yesenia, adopted herself, has given Jack and Eric very good advice over the years, and this is one of them. “Are we supposed to make the icing yet, or does that come after the cookies are baked?”

            “You’ve been doing this for like fifteen years and you don’t know?”

            “He’s the pastry chef, not me. I just eat what he makes.” Jack looks at the recipe. “It doesn’t say and I’m paranoid. Let’s wait for your dad to get back.”

            She looks up at him now. “I’m sorry I’m awful sometimes.”

            “You’re not awful, you’re a person. People feel things.”

            “I just. I feel out of control.”

            He nods. He understands that _very_ well. “Part of it’s because you’re thirteen, and part of it is because you had a very unique experience growing up, one a lot of people didn’t have, and it’s hard trying to figure out where you fit in with all that.” He pauses. “You remember your mother; Lola doesn’t. There’s a huge difference there.”

            Catalina starts cleaning up the errant flour. “Is it bad that I miss her sometimes?”

            “I would hope that you would miss her, ma bichette. She is still your mother, and she always will be.”

            “But you guys are great dads. I shouldn’t have to want anything else.”

            “Why not? Just because we’re great—and we _are_ —doesn’t take anything from your relationship with her.” He stops her hands from cleaning up the flour. “I don’t want you to feel guilty for wanting to be with her, or wanting a relationship with her. I just want you to understand that we both love you unconditionally, and we will do whatever you need to grow up into a good person. That’s…pretty much it. That’s what we’re here for.”

            She sighs. “I don’t know why I get like this.”

            “Believe me, I know how you feel.” He touches her shoulder gently. “Remember, the way you feel is never bad. Feelings themselves aren’t bad. I would just like you to always be honest with us about what you’re feeling, even if you want us to leave you alone.”

            She smiles a little. “Dad said I could tell him to—to fuck off.” She slaps a hand to her mouth and her eyes go wide.

            Jack throws back his hand and laughs. “Yes, and I’m sure he absolutely meant it. And I do too. Well. _Maybe_ don’t say that in front of your Mémé or MeeMaw, but you can say it to us.”

            Now in an unusually good mood, Catalina lets him help her with her math homework before saying, “Tell me again how you and Dad got us.”

            “It’s a crazy story,” Jack starts, as he always does, with a smile, “and involves Lardo, Shitty, two dozen reporters, a crazy southern grandmother, about four hundred pies, and the entire neighborhood marching through the streets.”

 

_End_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did some adoption information research for this section, and found that a majority of adoptees are minority children, some of whom may have any number of physical or mental impairments, and are rarely babies. Siblings can be adopted together, and open adoptions are typical when the child is older, because they will likely remember details about their family and a closed adoption can be more difficult. Older children, in particular, often have a lot of conflicting emotions regarding their adoption, and it’s beneficial to find a therapist who specializes in adoption to help the children work through their concerns. Many of the concerns they have are regarding their heritage, in the case of a mixed-race adoption, and how to keep that connection to their community. 
> 
> In my headcanon, Catalina was eight and Lola was almost two when Jack and Bitty officially took them home, after ten months of waiting. It took them nearly two years in total to find their children. Catalina was eleven and Lola was nearly five when Jack retired at the age of thirty-eight. And yes, they live happily ever after.


	7. Eric Bittle @ebittle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I love every single one of y'all that has looked at this fic, has left kudos, has commented, has read the first chapter but decided it wasn't for you, has loved the first chapter, has followed me on tumblr (50+ in two weeks--y'all, oh my gosh), and has generally just been one of the best parts of my life in the last couple of weeks. Thank you. Really. Thank you.
> 
> Any Twitter usernames that resemble something real are completely unintended. I made all of these up on the fly. If you find one you wanna use, go right ahead.
> 
> P.S.: Shoutout to Zillacan for introducing me to the idea of an amazing housekeeper that Bitty becomes BFFs with, which instantly became my headcanon. THANK YOU.

_November 1 st _

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

Hi, everyone! My name is Eric, and I think most of you know me because of #jackzimmermann. Pleased to meet you!

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

My friends call me Bitty. You can call me that too. You’re all my friends now—watch out (•̀ᴗ•́)و ̑̑

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

I told myself my first official tweet was going to be about pie, but instead it’s about WHIPPETS, because y’all, those things—

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

—are difficult to bake #managedit #barely

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

But since they’re SOMEBODY’S (#jackzimmermann) favorite, guess what I did. Yeah. I SUFFERED.

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

So I think a lot of y’all know, but I’m a senior at Samwell University!! #gowellies I’m graduating this upcoming spring & I’m freaked :(

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@hockeypucksssss because!! the REAL WORLD is OUT THERE :((((

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@tyrannosaurusSEX he’s good! he’s pretty shy and reserved, so he probably won’t be interacting much.

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@tyrannosaurusSEX hahahaha he’s a big marshmallow when he’s not on the ice. when he’s on the ice, he is a terrifying creature of god

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@hockeypucksssss honestly? i’d love to own my own bakery one day. there’s a shop across the street from us that was bought :( i was so sad

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@boopingthebutts i will not respond to this question, thank you.

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@whimperthenightaway no no that’s okay! some people are just curious, i can understand it!

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@whimperthenightaway nah doesn’t bother me. the habs pr team is amazing, they’ve been so helpful

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@boopingthebutts i will not respond to this question, thank you.

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@stormingtheNORMANDY tbh i expected that—just not something i’m gonna answer. thanks for understanding <3

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

#jackzimmermann says “Hey everyone” in his usual monotone. Then he said “What’s for lunch.” Um EXCUSE YOU.

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

Guys, please be respectful. :( I want to be interactive, but all I ask is for some respect. Please.

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@tyrannosaurusSEX yeah, i think some people may end up blocked :/ i didn’t want to have to do that

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

Okay, I’ve got some homework to do, so y’all be good. I’ll answer polite questions the next time I can! ♡＾▽＾♡

 

 

_November 3 rd_

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

So…Senioritis is an actual THING. I’ve basically been baking nonstop all weekend. If anyone needs like 8000 apple pies, let me know.

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@luigiwasframed american studies, with a concentration in food culture! it’s AMAZING

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@luigiwasframed my moomaw taught me when i was a wee child. loved it ever since. and i rock at it, if i do say so myself

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

I’ve got the LA game on and I’m wearing my new Canadiens shirt!!!!! #gohabs

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

Okay, fiiiine—here’s my new Habs shirt!! #jackzimmerman #canadiens img008.jpeg

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@trustinthedoctor i think he likes it? his exact words were “oh that’s neat.” what a buffoon, i look amazing.

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

While I watch the game, I am also currently baking an apple-cranberry-walnut pie. #smellsgoodinhere #bittysbakery

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@omfgrotfllmfao NO because he doesn’t deserve it. he said he “dislikes walnuts” and i am horrified. #whoareyou #jackzimmermann

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@omfgroftllmfao you precious honey child, bless you. #atleastsomeoneissmart #jackzimmermann #notyou

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

GOAAAAAAAAAAL!!! #canadiens #patches #maxpacioretty

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

JACK NO Don’t fight #mattgreene!!!!!!

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

Aaaaaand now you’re in timeout. #jackzimmermann #penaltybox #yougoon

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@trailingtears JUST LOOK AT HIM he’s so proud of himself for sticking up for patches, it’s kinda cute #okayfineyoucanfightmattgreene

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

I ALMOST BURNED MY PIE #jackzimmermann #iblameyou

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

End of the first period! Okay, now to try to get some statistics homework done. #whoinventedstatistics #donttellmeidontcare

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@ilessthanthreeyou no, he won’t text until he’s done with the game and has showered. part of his routine.

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@ilessthanthreeyou he has a very strict routine that i respect.

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@ilessthanthreeyou AW THANK YOU. yes, his anxiety is something he’ll deal with for the rest of his life, so i try to help where i can.

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

Text from #badbobzimmermann: Are you seeing what I’m seeing? :o

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

YES I AM, YOUR SON IS FIGHTING PEOPLE ( •᷄⌓•᷅ )

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

Text from #mamanzimmermann: I didn’t know I raised a goon…

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

A classic pumpkin pie is next to go in the oven, per the request of one of my very best friends in the world, Lardo. #bittysbakery

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@andabakingwewillgo i start with this recipe & fiddle a bit with the spices: http://allrecipes.com/recipe/13711/ho…

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@andabakingwewillgo i’m a snob—i prefer fresh over canned any day, even though it’s extra effort. #madewithlove

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

FINE, #lakings, TAKE THE GOAL. FINE. #yougetonlyone

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

Oh my God, Jack is laughing on TV. #jackzimmermann #invasionofthebodysnatchers #ineedtostudyugh

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@whimperthenightaway honestly??? i’m not a super great student :( i try but i get so DISTRACTED. #buzzfeedimlookingatyou

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@whimperthenightaway OH THAT’S A GOOD IDEA. i can easily bribe myself with my own baking, i may try that.

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@whimperthenightaway ha. hahaha. HAHAHAHA. he tried once to follow a recipe for sugar cookies and it was an absolute disaster.

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@whimperthenightaway like, i had no idea somebody could screw up cookies so much??? looking back, it was kinda cute LOL

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@hockeybuff i will not respond to this question, thank you.

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

Wow, the second period is a little boring? NO OFFENSE, but can someone (not #lakings) score please???

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

I THINK WE ARE TELEPATHIC #jackzimmermann #gooooooal #gohabs

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

Text from #badbobzimmermann: Can you tweet about how you want me to have homemade hot chocolate right now?

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

Can someone get #badbobzimmermann some homemade hot chocolate?

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

LOL TEXT FROM #mamanzimmermann: You owe me a pie, Mr. Bittle. I’m making hot chocolate.

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@softbuckywarmbucky i think they do??? I HOPE THEY DO. yeah, i’m pretty sure they do :)

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@softbuckywarmbucky he’s very funny and nice!! we text a lot back and forth during games & i send maman zimmermann recipes

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

AW THANK YOU RT: @whistlewhileuwerk I can’t get over how cute @ebittle is, oh my goodness gracious, precious kitten, gift to man

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

For the love of God, I need to do homework. (`A´)

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

LET’S MAKE MINI PIES #bittysbakery

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

Aw fine :( RT @theflawlessood @ebittle bb you need to study hard so you can play later!! it’s worth it!!! <3

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

I’ll study through the third period and only tweet if something good happens.

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

DANGIT JACK ZIMMERMANN I HAVE TO STUDY #gooooooal #gohabs

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

STUDYING NOW FOR REAL

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@renewyou yes, it was a great game!! and i did, finally! i think i’ll at least PASS my statistics test so that’s really all i’m hoping for here

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@ilessthanthreeyou awwww! <3 no, he hasn’t texted yet. usually it’s another hour before he does.

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@ilessthanthreeyou sometimes, but not as much anymore because i’m tweeting with y’all!! plus, i really did have a lot of homework :(

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@ilessthanthreeyou it’s not exciting at all. “good game!” “thanks” “i baked stuff!” “cool anything for me” “NO” “rude” that’s pretty much it

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@ilessthanthreeyou sometimes he’ll text a joke he found online and i swear he’s actually FIVE

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

Look at these beautiful pies before #thehaus got to them #bittysbakery img019.jpeg

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

#thehaus is what my friends Lardo and Shitty call their house they share with five people (including me).

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

It’s almost like a frat house? But it’s cleaner than a frat house. Because I live here now. (◕‿◕✿)

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@rockpaperscissorsspock yes, that’s true. it’s a house in boston that we’re still moving into.

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@rockpaperscissorsspock i really love it! the kitchen is so beautiful, and the neighborhood is great too. it was a lucky find.

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@rockpaperscissorsspock awwww thank you <33333 i appreciate the support, and i know jack does too!!

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

Text from #jackzimmermann: Are you tweeting about me

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

Text from #jackzimmermann: Because a reporter asked why I don’t like walnuts?? I feel like this came from you…

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

That’s what you get for being un-American. #yesiknowyourecanadian #hush

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

ROTFL text from #jackzimmermann: I just found your twitter, did my mom really call me a goon

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

You sweet summer child.

 

 

_November 10 th_

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

Whew! Life is BUSY. I’ve been working on some new recipes and trying to be a better student. #banbuzzfeedfromthehaus

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

My GPA isn’t awful? But there’s room for improvement, y’all. #workingonit #alwaystrytobebetter

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

With permission from #jackzimmermann I am happy to finally introduce my kitchen!!! I love my kitchen so muuuuch!! img192.jpeg

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

Also, have #jackzimmermann standing in my kitchen, trying to figure out what a cupcake corer is. img193.jpeg

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

#jackzimmerman: So….it just…makes holes? In a cupcake?

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

You HEATHEN, it makes HOLES for FILLINGS in CUPCAKES. (ﾉ｀□´)ﾉ⌒┻━┻

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@luigiwasframed 5 bed/6 bath. there’s a weight room that is jack’s pride and joy. i’m still obsessed with the kitchen.

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@luigiwasframed it’s pretty big, but it’s got several floors and it’s narrow, so it doesn’t feel as big when you’re only on 2 floors

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@luigiwasframed currently i’m just here on weekends since i have school during the week, but i’ll officially move in after graduation

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@winstonwinston jack is very funny, but he’s also like socially awkward? so sometimes he’s kind of weird at first haha

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@winstonwinston but no he’s a funny guy. sometimes his humor can really surprise you and then he’s all pleased he can make you laugh

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@winstonwinston ain’t that the truth! i’m def more outgoing than he is, but he’s not a recluse (much) (anymore) (all the time)

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

Oh my God are you for real with this. #jackzimmermann #ohmyGOD img199.jpeg

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

Text from #badbobzimmermann: How many flours does a baker need?

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

According to #jackzimmermann, about FORTY. #hestockedthepantry #lordhelpme

 

 

_November 11 th_

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

How many hockey players does it take to complain about too many sticks of butter in the fridge? One, and his name is #jackzimmermann

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

Lord give me the strength to not hit this man over the head with a frying pan, amen.

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@yeomanchambers he says it PREVENTS HIM from having more PROTEIN SHAKES〴⋋_⋌〵

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@yeomanchambers HE ALREADY HAS 20 IN THERE AND HE’S ONLY HERE FOR 3 DAYS

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

Ladies and gentlemen, my boyfriend. 3392894.mva

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

Yes, that is #jackzimmermann completely NOT understanding how Snapchat works. #blesshim

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

#jackzimmermann says “Hi Twitter, how’s everyone doing?” I think he’ll answer questions if y’all have them!!

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@winstonwinston Jack: I really like the elliptical best. It’s easy on my knees but gets me a hard workout.

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@hockeybuff Jack: Overall, 2-3 hours a day on non-practice days, only 1 hour a day on practice days. I have a strict diet I follow too.

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@hockeybuff Jack: On game days, I usually run in the morning and stretch a lot. I get up at 6:00AM, nap for 75 min in afternoon, bed ASAP

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@softbuckywarmbucky Jack: Unfortunately, not enough. When I indulge, I usually do an extra workout. I like his maple crust apple pie best.

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@allofthegundam Jack: It’s been a great opportunity. Anxiety is the #1 mental health problem kids have. I want to bring awareness –

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@allofthegundam Jack: – to the place mental health has in sports too bc I feel like it’s considered taboo or weak. NHL has a lot of work –

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@allofthegundam Jack: – ahead of them & I’m excited to help. I’m also honored to be a part of #youcanplay. Understanding breeds compassion.

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@whiskeyandpie Jack: Yes, I think he’s cute. Am I supposed to say more than that? [Jack, you sweet, sweet summer child, oh my Lord.]

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@poplocknload Jack: I would identify as bisexual if I had to pick. Is there a word for “it doesn’t hardly ever happen regardless of gender?”

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@mindthetribbles Jack: Oh, yeah. That feels more accurate. Yes, then I would identify as grey-asexual. Grey ace. I like that.

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@yaaaaarthepirate Jack: Eric, does that make sense to you? [Yes, Jack, I’ll explain Nicki Minaj to you later.]

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@friskythekitten Jack: I was introduced to him as Eric, so that’s what I call him. Everyone else calls him Bitty. Lardo calls him Bits.

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@goddamntrainwreck Jack: Her real name is Larissa. I don’t really do nicknames, but he does because he’s southern.

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@killjoffrey Jack: I’d rather not say. I’m shy. [Sweetheart, baby, honey, sugar, darlin’, pretty much what I call everyone!!]

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@battleofthebulgelol Jack: I don’t really do cheat days, but I do cheat meals. And then I feel guilty so I work out anyway.

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@prettyprettybucky Jack: Healthy medication, good communication w/ therapist, routines, supportive friends/family/job. Never giving up.

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@prettyprettybucky Jack: Some days are worse than others. I try to breathe & ask myself when I’ll be ready to do something, instead of –

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@prettyprettybucky Jack: – telling myself I HAVE to do something. That helps.

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@curiousandcuriouser Jack: Only your doc can say what’s right for you, but I’m on 15mg Lexapro, with .5mg Xanax for panic attacks.

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@curiousandcuriouser Jack: I have gone up to 20mg Lexapro during periods of high stress, still under supervision of my doc.

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@curiosandcurioser Jack: I haven’t needed Xanax in a while, but I have a current rx bc I never know when I’ll have a panic attack.

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@beatthebeet Jack: Wow, thank you. And you’re welcome. Being open and honest is the first step to healthy discussion and acceptance.

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@feralghouls Jack: Eric? [Jack is a tragic creature who has zero knowledge of any pop culture beyond the year 2000. We’re working on it.]

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@renegadefemshep Jack: Okay, come on, I’ve heard of Brad Pitt. [I’m dying. He looks so offended.]

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@renegadefemshep Jack: He’s in the movie about the thing with the spinning room. [Jack, it’s called Inception. And no, Brad is not in that.]

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@thekingslayer Jack: Am I? I don’t know what to say to that. [Jack Zimmermann is blushing. I repeat, Jack Zimmermann is blushing.]

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@thekingslayyer Jack: I don’t really think about it much, I guess. [Looooooooord help me. He’s still blushing.]

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@gargantuangeorge Jack: Probably a bird, so I could fly. But my favorite animal is the grey wolf, so I would be one of those too.

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@homestucky Jack: Eric? [He’s a Leo. BOY is he a LEO. I’m a Taurus! Apparently we’re like MORTAL ENEMIES with our zodiac signs. (ง •̀_•́)ง]

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@jhonnymaniac Jack: I don’t drink anymore, but when I did, I really liked Irish mules.

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

All right, guys! Jack’s got to get back to his regularly scheduled programming, but we’ll both talk to all y’all soon! (^_−)☆

 

 

_November 13 th_

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

This house is really quite lonely when I’m by myself. Heading back to Samwell later this afternoon. Until then…it’s very quiet.

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@cerseilannistre we’ve talked about it but it can’t really happen until after graduation. not sure how i’d be able to properly care for one

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@hockeypucksssss i could, but he’s currently getting ready for a game against the rangers, so i don’t want to disturb him

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@hockeypucksssss awww, you’re sweet <3 thank you. joining twitter was a good idea. y’all make me feel very welcome.

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@hockeypucksssss honestly? terrified. i’m from the south, so i’m sure you can imagine what i grew up with. my parents have been great tho

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@hockeypucksssss the zimmermanns are unbelievable human beings, honestly. they’ve treated me like their own. we’re on real good terms.

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@hockeypucksssss i’m actually spending christmas in montreal!! so no, i haven’t met them in person yet, but we facetime some

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

I’ll be soooooo glad when this semester is over. I feel like I could sleep for 400 years. #modernsleepingbeauty #ughcollege

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

I won’t be livetweeting tonight’s game, y’all, sorry! Too much to do to get ready for the week, but as always – #gohabs

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

Tough loss against the Rangers, but the #habs played well. Sometimes the other team is just better.

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@hockeypucksssss yes i did, dear, thank you for your concern. he’s good. takes losses hard, but he always bounces back.

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@hockeypucksssss the team is looking great this year, so i think we’re all pretty confident about what’s coming up next :)

 

 

_November 15 th_

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

He’s really, really good to me. img291.jpeg

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@winstonwinston yep!! he’s flying me to tampa for the weekend game against the bolts. sooooo excited for warmer weather omg

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

Congrats to the #habs for their win tonight!! Condon was AMAZING!!! 42 saves!!!

 

 

_November 16 th_

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@grenadiner oh, this is a great suggestion, thank you! i love italian, so we’ll definitely check it out!!!

 

 

_November 18 th _

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

I know I don’t really discuss it in explicit terms on here, but man, I am in love with this guy. WOW. img293.jpeg

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

I mean, how can you not be??????? Look at him. ✿♥‿♥✿

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@truehockeyfan i will not respond to this question, thank you.

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@valedicktorian i will not respond to this question, thank you.

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@ruminatinginwine i will not respond to this question, thank you.

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

WOW. I’ve got the block-hammer in full swing tonight!! Why does it make everyone so angry that I’m happy? Dang.

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@trashcncarlaa i ain’t done nothing to them, dang :( some people just gotta be mean to other people. i don’t get it :(

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@trashcncarlaa thanks for the support, sweetheart. i appreciate it <3 <3 <3

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

It is what it is, but nothing can upset me right now. I’m happy as can be. :) :) :) img294.jpeg

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

Jack: “When you put the picture on Twitter, does it leave your phone?” Oh. My. God.

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

We’re heading to Bella’s Italian Café, as suggested by @grenadiner! Jack is having boring food, but I’m going for the RAVIOLI. #imnotonadiet

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

MY FOOD IS SO PRETTY #gonnamarryit img295.jpeg

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@yuyuhakushooo …can’t i do both? #marrythefood #marrytheboy

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@yuyuhakushooo okAY FINE i guess i pick jack :P

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

My mom wants me to tell y’all she says HI. I’m putting it in all caps because she’s yelling it at me. She’s excited. She thinks I’m FAMOUS.

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

Mother, if acting like an idiot online is being famous, then yes. It me.

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@sweetsweetheart she already knew, like a lot of moms seem to. she didn’t know how to ask me about it. it was a very emotional conversation

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@sweetsweetheart that was a little different. let’s say we’re working on it, and it wasn’t what i expected (it wasn’t bad OR good, really)

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

WELL, I am an old fuddy duddy now, so I think I’m going to go watch a movie with #jackzimmermann and PASS OUT.

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

Y’all be good to one another. Talk soon! <3

 

 

_November 20 th _

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

  1. Did y’all watch the game? Did you see how #jackzimmermann got put in timeout TWICE? What is in his Wheaties? #angerandrage



 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

Like, I feel like we need to be real here—the boy is JUST LIKE HIS FATHER. And yes, I said that to Bad Bob’s face (voice)

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

And all I got was, “Oh yeah, I did do that, didn’t I?” #deadpancanadians #lordsaveme

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

The best part of the game, though, was the nice fans behind me, who let me take selfies with them! #goodpeople img301.jpeg

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

These ladies were there specifically to support #youcanplay and #jackzimmermann and the entire #habs organization. Very cool!!!

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

After the game, I brought them back with me to meet the team. img303.jpeg

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

img304.jpeg

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

img305.jpeg

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

img307.jpeg

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

All in all, I think it was a very fun and rewarding night!!! Now I SLEEP.

 

 

_November 24 th_

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

HAPPY THANKSGIVING!! I love holidays that are centered around food and eating. #ibaked14pies #thatisntanexaggeration #bittysbakery

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

I’m spending it here in the Haus, which is AWESOME, because all the roommates are here!!! I get to feed SIX PEOPLE!!!

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

And Shitty is like two people alone, so SEVEN. #thankgodforshitty #hecaneatalot #icancookalot

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

On the menu: roast turkey, gravy, stuffing, pear salad, mashed potatoes, green bean casserole, and yes—

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

—14 pies. #bittysbakery #bittysexpandingwaistline

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@tyrannosaurusSEX nah, he’s in transit to montreal. there’s a chance i might not get to see him until christmas.

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@tyrannosaurusSEX noooo it’s totally fine! i knew what i signed up for with this. i wouldn’t change a thing. :)

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

As requested: 1) apple-cranberry-walnut 2) lemon meringue 3) strawberry rhubarb 4) apple pie, maple crust 5) keylime 6) peach-apricot

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

7) pecan 8) fudge pecan 9) pumpkin – fresh 10) pb & banana 11) cherry 12) chocolate mousse 13) custard 14) raspberry chiffon

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

Hi everyone it’s Jack. Eric’s busy right now so he asked me to tweet and say I surprised him for Thanksgiving.

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

How do I do a smiley face the way Eric does

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

With the things

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@winstonwinston Hi thanks (^○^)

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

(*´ω｀*) this looks like his face right now

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@stormingtheNORMANDY Yes I’m really glad he made the maple crust one. It’s my favorite.

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

How do I put the picture on

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

I just took it

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

Lord, this boy is inept. Hi, it’s me again!!!!!! And LOOK WHO IS HERE WITH MEEEEE img501.jpeg

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

If my eyes are red, it’s ALLERGIES. I wasn’t CRYING. At ALL. img502.jpeg

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

Thanksgiving feels more complete now. I would’ve been fine before, but this is just better. img503.jpeg

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

Love y’all. Gonna go spend time with my family now!! #happythanksgiving #didntknowicouldbesohappy

 

 

_November 25 th _

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

He’s so sweet. img504.jpeg

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

If anyone’s wondering, YES, Jack is out for a run right now. After a huge Thanksgiving dinner in which HE INDULGED. #hardcore

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

There is so much leftover food. I’m actually going to have stuffing and mashed potatoes for breakfast. #thanksgiving2k16

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

Actually, no. I’m saving the stuffing. I am having three different pies for breakfast with coffee. #notonadiet

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

Oh my God, the fridge has protein shakes in them. Who bought that? That was not me.

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

#jackzimmermann #youaresneaky

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

It’s going to be a lazy Friday in the Haus. Chowder, Dex, and Nursey are still sleeping off their food comas.

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@thx4mmries i think the biggest hit was the rosemary and thyme turkey tbh. i spent like 16 hrs on that thing.

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

!!!!!!!!!!! THIS ISNT FAIR

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

OH MY GOD

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

NOLJ;LIQELK STOP HI SOMEONE STOP HIM

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

I do not like to be tickled and chased around the dang kitchen at ass o’clock in the morning.

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

It’s NOT cute. #someonegetmecoffee #justputitinanIV

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

Didn’t I jUST SAY it was gonna be a lazy Friday??? Oh my freaking Lord. #jackzimmermann #enoughofyou

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

(Who am I kidding, I am delighted.)

 

 

_November 27 th_

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

I’m gonna be doing a bit of radio silence for a few days, y’all. Gotta work on that GPA! #studyhard #partyhard #butnoreallystudyharderbitty

 

 

_November 29 th_

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

90 ON MY CHEMISTRY TEST. OH MY GOD AM I ACTUALLY NOT DUMB??? THIS IS NEWS. #studiedhard #partiednotatall #worthit

****

****

_December 1 st _

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

Y’ALL. I’m from Georgia. What the frick is this SNOW?! We’ve got a blizzard!!!

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

Classes are cancelled. I still have wifi, maybe this won’t be so bad??? #hesaystohimselfinaterrifiedvoice

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@whisperingpines NO!!! like NOT EVER!!! i never saw snow like this til i moved up here for school. it scares me!!

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@whisperingpines shitty made sure we’re all stocked up and safe. we’re still eating food from #thanksgiving2k16 so at least there’s THAT

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

Oh my Lord. I can’t see anything outside at all. This is unsettling. img519.jpeg

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

Dear #jackzimmermann, please take care of Señor Bun if I don’t make it out alive＼(º □ º l|l)/

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@yodelingyodle it’s my stuffed rabbit i’ve had since i was a tot. he means a lot to me. #notashamedofit

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@yodelingyodle ACTUALLY YES LOOK. img033.jpeg

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@yodelingyodle yep!!! it’s on my instagram now :)

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@yodelingyodle i know, they’re so cute together. :)

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

Sooooooooooooooooooooooooo I’m freaking out.

 

 

_December 2 nd_

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

Sorry to scare everyone!!! We’re safe! The power went out and I didn’t want to use my phone battery in case we needed it for an emergency.

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

We all sort of huddled up in blankets in the living room and kept warm that way. It worked out fine!!

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

But now I am cray stressed and would like to sleep in my own bed for several hours. Thanks for the concern!! <3333333 Love y’all!

 

 

_December 6 th_

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

Look what I just got texted. #gohabs #jackzimmermann img001.jpg

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

Jack leading tiny children around on the ice absolutely destroys my heart oh my goodness gracious. LOOK AT THEM. img002.jpg

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

AHAHA APPARENTLY HE CAN DEADLIFT FOUR SIX-YEAR-OLDS. img003.jpg

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

Oh my goodness, look how happy those kids are. And he’s laughing!! Ahhhhhhh my heart!!!!!

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@rembranding jack is SO GOOD with kids. he’s better with kids than he is with adults by far. it’s precious.

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

Text from #jackzimmermann: Hahaha that was so much fun :-)

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

He used a smiley face???? I can’t????? GOSH \\(★ω★)/

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

I have homework, but this brightened up my day TREMENDOUSLY. #captainjack #lovethatboy

 

 

_December 9 th_

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

Text from #jackzimmermann: What’s a ship name

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

Text from #jackzimmermann: Patch asked if I knew what our ship name is. What does that mean

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

  1. Cannot. Breathe. #dyinglaughing #ohmyGOD #JACKZIMMERMANN



 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

Me to Jack: Ship stands for relationship. It’s a way to shorthand the names a couple you like. Like Brangelina?

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

TEXT FROM JACK: What’s a Brangelina

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

Me to Jack: Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie. Our ship name is apparently Zimbits. For Zimmermann and Bittle?

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

JACK: How do people use it and why

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

Honey, honey, honey. Child. We are a Twitter tag. #zimbits Oh my Lord. Get with 2008, Jack, that’s all I ask.

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@revlove he is as sweet a child you could ever hope to meet, but we are really going to focus on pop culture, dear lord.

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

JACK: I kind of like that. It sounds cute. Like a name of a cookie.

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

Next up from #bittysbakery, a batch of Zimbits. (≧◡≦)

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

OH MY GOD. A zimbit would be a soft n chewy maple and pecan cookie with cinnamon cream cheese frosting I AM A GENIUS #bittysbakery

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

Hey, @winstonwinston, Jack has a question for you. Jack: Is it Winston Winston, Winston Wins Ton, or Wins Ton Winston?

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

Jack: I can’t stop thinking about it. It’s bothering me that I don’t know how to say it.

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@winstonwinston thanks, dear! i’ll let him know. i’ve never heard of that show, but i bet jack has because he’s canadian.

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

HAHAHA. Jack: Of course I know what Degrassi is. What kind of Canadian do you take me for.

 

 

_December 10 th _

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

Hi everyone. It’s Jack. I’m signed into Eric’s Twitter. He said I should reach out to you guys. So I’m here to say Hi. I’m in Montréal for t

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

Three home games, then we go to Atlanta and Minnesota, then home for Christmas. We’re playing the Sabres on 12/26. I don’t like this 140 cha

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

Characters thing. It keeps interrupting my thoughts.

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@winstonwinston Hi yes I used to watch Degrassi when I was younger. I remember some of the characters. Emma and Manny?

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@winstonwinston I haven’t seen it in a long time but I’m not surprised it’s still on. It was a great show. Did a lot for real issues kids fa

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@winstonwinston kids face. This 140 characters thing is going to be a problem.

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@habsgurl I don’t think so. I’m not very good with electronic stuff, and I don’t know when I’d have time in my schedule for it to be worthwh

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@habsgurl worthwhile for you guys. I’m too boring. Eric’s much better at this than I am.

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@ridinghigh Of course I got him a Christmas present!

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@ridinghigh He’d see it if I said it, but it’s pretty good.

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@palominoroyale My alarm goes off at 5:45 and I start working out at 6:00. I’ve now since showered and had breakfast.

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

I drink a protein shake before workout instead of after, per my trainer. I use the Rivalus Promasil because she recommended it.

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

After a workout, I follow up with a BCAA capsule and a healthy breakfast. This morning was scrambled egg whites, spinach, turkey bacon, oatm

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

oatmeal and blueberries. I try to drink at least 100 ounces of water a day.

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@hockeypucksssss I warm up with the elliptical, run on the treadmill, and alternate arms and legs with weights. My main focus is cardio.

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@hockeypucksssss In the offseason, I assess where my weaknesses are and build on that. This last offseason I worked on my speed.

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

So I know I’m talking about my healthy eating routine, but all I can think about are Eric’s whippets. He hasn’t made them in a while.

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

I took a picture last time let me see if I can put it on here for you

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

img003.jpeg

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

I think I did it right? That’s the last whippets he made. I ate six of them in one sitting. I felt so guilty.

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

So then I worked out for an hour, came back, and had six more. It was terrible of me. But they’re so good.

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@trashcncarlaa Probably his kindness, patience, and generosity. He’s a very unique individual. I’ve never met someone as selfless as he is.

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@trashcncarlaa He inspires me to do more and be better every day, so really, he’s been a blessing in my life.

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@luigiwasframed I don’t, no. Never really got into them. I don’t think Eric does either, but I know Shitty and Lardo play Halo and Fall Out.

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@luigiwasframed Haha I think I’d rather be on the ice than playing it on a video game, but I could check it out for sure.

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

Here’s a picture of the Montréal skyline from my apartment

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

img009.jpeg

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

It’s a nice morning so far.

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@realtalk2k14 Bonjour! Votre français est très bon. Est-ce que vous l'avez appris à l'école?

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@realtalk2k14 Vous faites très bien. Ce fut ma première langue. 

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@realktalk2k14 Pas du tout. Je l'ai appris quand j'avais trois ans. C'est plus facile quand vous êtes jeune.

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@admiralisabela Sort of. My thoughts don’t typically tend to be in Québécois or English? But I can think in both at the same time.

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@admiralisabela So I can go back and forth pretty easily entre les deux without having to think about it.

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

Okay, so it’s time for me to call Eric. I’m going to sign off so he can tweet if he wants. Thank you for spending time with me this morning.

 

 

_December 12 th_

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

I’m going to livetweet the game, guys! How’s everyone doing? (´｡• ω •｡`) #gohabs

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

I’m also going to livetweet these churro cupcakes I’m making for Chowder. #theyaregoingtobeamazing #bittysbakery

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

I found the recipe here: <http://www.food.com/recipe/churro-cupcakes-480594> And as usual, fiddle with it until it suits my liking.

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@luigiwasframed you know, i’ve thought about that, but i’m not sure how that would work :( but once i get my bakery…WATCH OUT

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

Text from #badbobzimmermann: I bet you a berry pie that Jack gets into a fight in this game.

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

I clarified, and yes, Bad Bob Zimmermann will bake ME a berry pie if Jack does NOT get into a fight in this game.

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

It’s ON, Mr. Jack’s Dad. #letsseewhatyouvegot

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

  1. First pic of the churro cupcake batter here: img901.jpeg



 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

I don’t know how I feel about this consistency yet? It’s very different from my usual batter. But it smells H E A V E N L Y #bittysbakery

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

Eller with the goal, Zimmermann with the assist!!!!! #gohabs #dontfightjack #iwantyourdadtobakemeapie

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

Text from my dad????: I bet he’s gonna pull a Gordie Howe hat trick

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

What the heck does that mean? (Also, my dad is texting me about hockey—THIS NEVER HAPPENS)

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

OH MY GOD, FROM WIKI: “A Gordie Howe Hat Trick is a variation on the [hat-trick](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hat-trick), wherein a player scores a [goal](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Goal_\(hockey\)), records an assist—

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

—and [gets in a fight](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fighting_in_ice_hockey) all in one game.” OH MY GOD!!! There is a name for this??? #JACKNO

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

……..Text from my dad: Found your twitter.

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

LOL TEXT FROM MY DAD: If he gets the Gordie Howe, you bake me a custard pie. If he doesn’t, I don’t bake you anything because I can’t bake.

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

DAD: But I’d be happy to buy you a beer.

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

#imnotcryingyourecrying (╥A╥)

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

There are some SERIOUS STAKES riding on this game. Or some SERIOUS PIE rather. Because if Jack gets into a fight, I bake one pie.

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

If he gets into a fight AND gets a goal, I bake two pies. If he doesn’t get into a fight, I get a pie and a beer. #iwantpieandbeer

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

Oh look, I can tweet, make bets, and put cupcakes in the oven all at the same time #bittysbakery img992.jpeg

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

Aaaand end of the first period! Time to work on the icing for these churro cupcakes!! #bittysbakery #jackdontfight

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@winstonwinston i forgot to tweet about it!!! whoops!! i actually made an 81 on it—i know, i am shocked i tell you. didn’t expect that!

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@winstonwinston i’m so bad with statistics i was seriously just hoping for a 70. but i guess studying works after all! #whoknew

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@FforEffort i know, doesn’t he? he’s actually even more ripped than he looks, if you can believe it. it’s almost gross. #sojealous

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@FforEffort look, i am an attractive young man, but i’m 5’7” on a good day, 130 pounds soaking wet. he is a beast.

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@FforEffort oh my!!! thank you!!! (⁄ ⁄•⁄ω⁄•⁄ ⁄)

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@captainanders actually, i don’t know. nhl.com says 200 pounds but i don’t think they’ve taken into account the junk in that trunk. #srsly

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@captainanders like, the next time he’s on tv, just look REALLY HARD at that caboose. because it’s crazy huge?? like in a good way?

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@captainanders in the sense that he’s a big guy all over but apparently being a hockey player gives you phenomenal…assets. #allofthemarehot

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

True Fact: Jack has actually tried to bench press me before when the hotel in Tampa didn’t have a weight room #thisisnotevenalittlebitofalie

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

I put up with it for all of four seconds before I shut down that crazy train. #youneedtocalmdown

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

Besides, he bench presses like twice what I weigh, it would’ve been a useless workout anyway.

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

OH NO, Jack got a goal. #countdowntopieandbeer

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

I mean, GO HABS and all, but. #countdowntoPIEandBEER

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

Look at these beautiful, beautiful cupcakes. I am amazing #bittysbakery img119.jpeg

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@heybigsaver if this boy gets into a fight, i’m never gonna live it down from TWO DADS. #jackno

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

Do I overuse hashtags? I probably do, don’t I? #toobad #cantstopwontstop

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

CHOWDER YOU BIG PUPPY. img120.jpeg

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

Yes, that is my roommate Chowder sticking his head halfway in the oven to sniff newly-baking cupcakes. #chowderno

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

I know I should be like fair or whatever on Twitter, but I just cannot stand the Bruins. Remember when they nearly ripped Jack’s arm off?

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

I remember. I will ALWAYS remember. #bostonRUINS #finehaveagoalugh

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

Here it comes.

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

I’m waiting. I am literally staring at my phone and waiting.

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

There it is. #UGH

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

Text from #badbobzimmermann: So in my berry pie, I prefer to have a sugared crust.

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

Text from my father: Don’t forget, I like Moomaw’s recipe better than your mother’s. Don’t tell that to your mother.

 

 

_December 13 th_

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

Text from Jack late last night (I’d already fallen asleep, oops): Sorry about the Gordie Howe :-(

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

Oh my God. (´｡• ᵕ •｡`) ღ When he uses smileys, it just KILLS ME.

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

Jack’s Christmas gift just came in the mail!!! I’m so excited for this one, y’all. It’s gonna be awesome.

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

Text from Jack: What did you get me for Christmas

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

No way, Sneaky McSnoop. I ain’t tweeting it, so stop nosin around my business.

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

I’m heading to class early so I don’t have to sit in the very back again, but I’ll talk to all y’all later! (*≧ω≦*)

 

 

_December 16 th_

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@hockeypucksssss sorry, no, i’m alive!! look, i even have a pumpkin spice latte :3 img101.jpeg

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@hockeypucksssss just been busy trying to get ready for the holidays and my trip to montreal. i’m so nervous. i can’t speak french at all :/

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@whisperingpines he’s tried, but i just cannot retain anything. it’s so embarrassing :/

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@stonerehenge EVERYTHING. pronunciation, spelling, sentence structure. :( i have really simple words down but nothing useful.

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@stonerehenge i did spanish my first two years in community college and squeaked by with D’s :/ i’m really trying not to throw up over this!

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@triggerhappyharry maman, papa, bonjour, au revoir, merci, pardon, c’est bon, je t’aime. i think that’s it :/

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@triggerhappyharry DON’T MAKE ME BLUSH. #^^# yes, of course i know how to say that in french. ahem.

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@tripwirethrowdown i’m just going to focus on looking adorable and hopefully no one will make me speak :x

 

 

_December 18 th_

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

Well, my flight leaves on the 23rd for Montreal. #mamanzimmermann will pick me up at the airport. Then we get to go GROCERY SHOPPING

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

She and I are going to make the best Christmas dinner in the universe. #teamchefs #bittysbakery #mrsaliciaskitchen

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@parksandwreckt they’ve told me to call them by their first names but i just CANNOT. so its mr. bob, mrs. alicia, sir & ma’am. #southernboy

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

I’m worrying over Christmas presents again. I love Christmas, because I love giving gifts and making people happy, but then I worry–

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

–that the recipient won’t like them or something. #needtocalmdown

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@sanjosesharkbait oh no, it’s just a worry of mine i’ve always had. i like making people happy and i worry that i don’t.

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@sanjosesharkbait yeah, i think that’s very true. whenever i do those online quizzes, i always get THE NURTURER. #sotrue

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

Okay, y’all, I’ve got SO much to take care of over the next few days, so I might not get to tweet too much. Be good!!!

 

 

_December 23 rd_

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

SO IT’S NOT #mamanzimmermann AT THE AIRPORT TO GET ME #ohmyGOSH img494.jpeg

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

We are disgustingly cute. #zimbits img495.jpeg

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

Gosh, I’ve missed this fella. #jackzimmermann img496.jpeg

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

HOWEVER, I am a little bummed because #mamanzimmermann knows what to get at the store, and this guy does NOT.

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

OH MY GOSH, SHE HANDWROTE HIM A GROCERY LIST. #bestillmyheart #lovethisfam

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@winstonwinston Jack says hi back!

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

Oh my God. I am surrounded by French. Everyone is speaking French. Everything is written in French. #french

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

Oh my GOD, I am not going to survive this. #justlookcute #nobodywillquestionyou

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

#jackzimmermann is trying to teach me “baby French.” I feel insulted. #butitsalittlecutetoo

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

Oh my sweet Lord, this city is GORGEOUS covered in snow!!!! img291.jpeg

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

I can’t stop gushing, but seriously—this city looks MAGICAL. It’s like a Canadian wonderland. img294.jpeg

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

So the #zimmermanns have a new house they bought, and Jack actually hasn’t even seen it yet. #forshame

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

OH MY GOD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! img295.jpeg

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

I can’t breathe. They have a kitten. I repeat the #zimmermanns have a new kitten!!!! img298.jpeg

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

Oh my sweet crap, it’s a munchkin kitten. Oh my Lord, my heart is pitter-pattering over this!!! LOOKIT THE TEENY LEGS img299.jpeg

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

SOMEBODY’S GETTING SNUGGLES TONIGHT. #notyoujackzimmermann #sorrynotsorry

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@hockeypucksssss awwww, merci! i think we’re adorable too. :)

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

Wow, um. There’s a lot of snow. I’m already cold. #getbittyanelectricblanket2k16

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

Jack would like me to point out that he thinks I’m a wuss. Now he’s trying to tell me how to say “wuss” in French. #showoff

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

Okay, I’m dying. The new #zimmermann house is to DIE FOR. img301.jpeg

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

#KITTEN OH MY GOD #KITTENNNNNNN

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

Hi everyone it’s Jack. Eric’s preoccupied with the kitten. She doesn’t have a name yet. My mom wants to know if y’all have any suggestions.

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@tyrannosaurusSEX Haha I think he’s rubbing off on me a little. Too bad he can’t pick up French.

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@umbrellaella Mom says that’s a maybe, but she preferred Ethel to Lucy. So maybe Ethel?

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@bahstonredsahx Hahaha. My mom says ‘maybe for a middle name.’ Ethel Zimbits? Nah.

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

Oh, this is a cute picture.

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

Did it work?

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

Did that work?

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

img001.jpeg

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

That worked. Eric and the kitten have the same colours—blonde with brown eyes.

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@redmeansgo I don’t think my hashtag game is as strong as Eric’s.

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@redmeansgo #is this how you do it?

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

#isthishowyouhashtag

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

Wow, that’s cluttered.

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

Lordy, my twitter is a mess. #jackzimmermann #imblamingyou

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

Okay, friends. I’m thinking I might not be tweeting much over the next couple of days, so please know I love all y’all!! #mypreciousbabes

 

 

_December 26 th_

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@whisperingpines they decided on ethel!! thanks, @umbrellaella!!!

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@winstonwinston yes, it was absolutely wonderful!!! how was yours?

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@winstonwinston oh, that’s fantastic! gosh, i never really got into video games but that looks so fun!! is it two-player?

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@winstonwinston i am mortified. you’d think i was #jackzimmermann dear lord. #sorrynotagamer

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@winstonwinston HAHAHA jack’s dad just said “we have that in the game room” oh my god he likes #dragonage

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@winstonwinston I CAN’T BREATHE #badbobzimmermann JUST SAID: tell them i play as a lady archer dwarf

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@hockeypuckssssss #badbobzimmermann says: usually josie because she’s sweet but this play through is sarah (me: ???)

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@hockeypucksssss #badbobzimmermann says: no, because i like bull and dorian more (me: i have no idea what this means)

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@hockeypucksssss YOU CAN ROMANCE PEOPLE IN A VIDEO GAME? oh dear…i may have to try this…

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

Since a lot of you have asked, well. Because #jackzimmermann is a truly extraordinary human being, #bittysbakery is actually going to become real.

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

Remember the little shop across the street from our Boston house? And I was sad because it was bought?

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

It was bought because he bought it. For me. (;___;)

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

My parents’ gifts made SO much more sense after Jack gave me his. Mom gave me an apron that says Bitty’s Bakery on it. Like, cute? But???

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

And my dad gave me a mysterious IOU that he later explained is him paying to get me website/business cards set up when I’m ready for it ;__;

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

So yes. This Christmas was really, really lovely. #hopeyourealldoingwell #lovefromzimbits

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@stonerehenge ahahah…he’s so shy. HE’S SO SHY, but he loves his gift.

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@stonerehenge well………i’ll let jack tell you that…..

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

Hi everyone it’s Jack. Here is my Christmas gift from Eric.

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

Is the picture here

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

Oh sweet Lord, #jackzimmermann img009.jpeg

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

Um, so it took me about 30 minutes to open the app. It kept crashing. Y’all okay? :/ #dangfam #hadmeworried

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

AWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW YOU GUYS ARE SO SWEET ;____; I didn’t expect this love at all!!! Oh my GOSH.

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

UM, I shouldn’t have to clarify this, but OF COURSE HE SAID YES. #mrjackbittle

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

THAT LAST HASHTAG WAS A JOKE. WE AREN’T CHANGING OUR NAMES.

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

Oh my god mamanzimmermann: But Eric Zimmermann sounds so cute.

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

Zimmy’s Bakery just doesn’t have the same ring as #bittysbakery so I’m staying a Bittle.

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

OH MY GOD #badbobzimmerann: On the ice, #1, Jack Bittle.

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

#jackzimmermann: I don’t hate that. #stopityou

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@hockeypucksssss yoooooo, there’s a lot of haterade in my @ mentions right now but i ain’t even mad

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

Like, sorry haters, but I am so far beyond giving a hoot in this moment. #loveandlight

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

May Queen Bey grant y’all the peace y’all so clearly need. #amen

 

 

_December 28 th_

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

I think the house is almost in order, but something I didn’t realize about, like, having a house this big? The cleaning. :|

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

This house. Takes forever. To clean. #helpmeoprah

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@thelonesurvivor oh my lord no!!!! there’s no way haha. i’d feel too bad having someone else clean up my mess. :x

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@thelonesurvivor this is very, very true. all the rich people on tv are like SUPER MEAN to their housekeepers. i’d be a delight.

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@thelonesurvivor I WOULD!!! oh my gosh maybe we could bake together. i’m the perfect househusband. #bittysbakery #stillgonnahappen

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

Oh sweet crap. Text from #jackzimmermann: Get a housekeeper, Bittle.

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

Me to #jackzimmermann: Rude.

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

TEXT FROM JACK: Je vais arrêter d’être grossier quand tu vas m'écouter.

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

I hate it when he makes me use Google Translate. #youattractivejerk

 

 

_December 30 th_

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

Oh. My. GOSH. I just interviewed with a nice lady to be our housekeeper and I think I want her for my best friend. #SOMUCHINCOMMON

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

Her name is Marisol, she says hi to everyone, she knows nothing about hockey, but she is a BAKING FIEND. #seriouslynewbestfriend

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

Her oldest daughter is 35 and lives in Providence. To use a hockey term Jack is fond of, she chirped me for not having any glass cleaner :x

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

SHE’S GOING TO LET ME CLEAN WITH HER I AM SO EXCITED!!!!!

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@regularlyscheduled she’ll be coming on the weekends for now, but three times a week once i’m here. one hour is for cleaning.

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

@regularlyscheduled AND ONE HOUR IS FOR BAKING!!!!!! :D she’ll bake with me!! and “show me a few things” oh my GOSH.

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

Marisol’s reaction to a picture of Jack and me in the living room: “He’s pretty handsome. Not like you, though.” #ooohgirl #ilikeyou

 

 

_December 31 st_

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

Happy new year early to everyone! #jackzimmermann surprised me for the night (he does that a lot, doesn’t he) so we’re staying in! <3

 

**Eric Bittle @ebittle**

Be good to one another, and stay safe!!! <3 <3 <3 #muchlovefromzimbits

 

 

 


End file.
